The Family Business
by JK Philips
Summary: BOOK THREE in the DBC series, sequel to The Ticking Clock. The legacy of slayers, watchers, and the Council is forever changed. Buffy and Giles reclaim what they have lost, but at what price?
1. Momma’s Boy

ORIGINALLY POSTED: August 16, 2001  
TITLE: The Family Business  
AUTHOR: JK Philips  
RATING: PG  
SUMMARY: After the events of The Ticking Clock, Buffy and Giles are still looking for their  
daughter. Can they save her from a terrible fate?  
SPOILERS: Everything up to "The Gift"  
DISCLAIMER: I do not own these characters; they are the property of Joss Whedon,  
Mutant Enemy & Fox. I simply am doing this for fun, and non-profit use.

* * *

This is the third book in a trilogy, set after the events in "Death Brings Clarity" and "The Ticking Clock." It's not necessary to have read them both in order to get this, but you might like to. You can find them archived at any number of sites including mine. If not, well then let me just fill in the necessary facts.

Last time on Buffy the Vampire Slayer:  
After the spear through the side and the RV crash in "Spiral," as Giles is dying on the table in the gas station, he has an epiphany and realizes he's in love with Buffy. It's too late for him as the events of the final episodes lead quickly to Buffy's death. Buffy herself becomes a ghost, watching over Dawn and Giles as he assumes the role of her guardian. Buffy can't help but fall in love with Giles as she watches him take care of her sister with such devotion. But, alas, also too late for Buffy who is, of course, dead. Then there is a spell (isn't there always?) and Buffy comes back to life and back to Giles, and the two are now a couple. After a brief custody battle with her father, Buffy becomes Dawn's legal guardian on the condition that Giles remain living in their house as a kind of co-guardian.

Five months later, Buffy has an inexplicable and powerful urge to mate and hunt. Turns out slayers have a shorter biological clock to match their shorter lifespan, and her body is pushing her to have a baby. After her "heat" passes, she'll never be able to have children again, so she convinces Giles to father a baby with her. They soon learn that her slayer gifts have even more surprises in store for her, shortening her pregnancy from nine months to nine weeks and giving them twins. Things go from bad to worse as Randall's father (remember Randall and Eyghon from "The Dark Age?") seeks vengeance for his son's death at Giles' hands. He steals their twins after birth and disappears. They get their son back, but not their daughter. They can't find her, and the agency lost the paperwork on her adoption. They seek help from Angel, who takes them to meet the Host at his karaoke bar. Giles and Buffy sing, and the Host tells them they will get their daughter back as a little girl and not any sooner. She has two possible futures after coming home: they will either be able to keep her and raise her or else they will lose her again and she will be raised into darkness.

Ok, 282 pages distilled to two paragraphs. Now moving on.

* * *

Three years later...

Part 1: Momma's Boy

Alex paged through the booklet in his hands very carefully. He pointed to one letter and said to his father proudly, "A for apple."

"Yes, it is," his father answered very softly. "But you must be quiet now. Everyone is trying to watch the play."

Alex didn't know what the play was about, only that Aunt Dawn was going to be in it. He didn't see her on stage yet. But a lot of the people had masks. Maybe one of those people was her. He pointed to someone near the edge of the stage. "Is 'at Dawnie?" he asked.

His father shushed him again. "I'll point her out when she comes on."

Alex squirmed in his father's lap, and his dad stopped his legs from kicking the seat in front of him. Alex sighed. He was bored, but he was trying to be good. He wanted to see Aunt Dawn in her play. He had been too little to go last year. He paged through the booklet in his hands again. His father had read it to him, pointing out Dawn's name and explaining what the play was about. But it was an old play, like his daddy's books, and he didn't understand it.

There were letters on the back of the booklet that he knew. More than that, his father would be excited that he knew them. "Look, Daddy," he said, pointing at each one. "Gamma Phi Beta."

The people in the row in front of them turned around to look at him. They must really be impressed that he knew those Greek letters. Alex waved at them and smiled brightly. "I'm Alex. I'm free," he informed them, holding up three fingers to demonstrate his age.

His father apologized to the people watching them and reminded Alex again that the theatre was supposed to be a quiet place, like how he had to whisper in the library.

"Can I sit wif Mommy?"

His father passed him over, and he sat in his mother's lap for a few minutes. "What's 'at?" he asked her, pointing to something they had brought on stage.

She leaned over and whispered in his ear. "I think it's supposed to be a boat."

Alex giggled. "Silly. Boats go water." The people turned around to look at him again, and he waved.

"Please, Alex," his mother asked softly. "Can you be quiet until the lights come on? Dark means quiet. Pretend your lips are stuck together."

His mother made a face at him, with her lips all squished together. He copied her and looked back at the stage. He was trying to be a good boy and be quiet. But then he saw Aunt Dawn come on the stage. She had her hair all braided on her head and was wearing a long dress, but he knew it was her. He forgot to be quiet.

"Auntie Dawnie!" He tried to stand in his mother's lap to wave at Dawn. She must not see him, because she didn't wave back. The people in front turned around. He smiled at them and pointed to the stage. "_My_ Dawnie," he told them, because they obviously didn't understand just who was on stage right now.

"Come on, Alex," his mother whispered. "Now you've gotten to see Dawn in her play, let's go for a walk around the school."

"It's okay, Buffy, I'll take him," his father said. "You stay and watch Dawn."

And then his father's arms were lifting him from her lap and carrying him down the aisle. He waved at Dawn on the stage, but she still must not see him. "Bye-bye, Dawnie," he called with a final wave. The back doors of the theatre closed behind them, and they were standing in the high school hallway. A few other people milled about talking. His father set him down and took his hand. They walked aimlessly. Alex spotted a glass case and pressed his nose against it.

"What's 'at?" he asked.

"Trophies," his father answered. "Eagerly sought after by a school that would rather pour money into athletics than anything useful."

He frowned up at his father. He liked how his dad never talked down to him like he was a baby. He wasn't a baby. He was a big boy now. Still, that meant he didn't always understand. His father didn't like the pretty trophies, and Alex didn't know why. "Shiny." He pointed at the case, trying to sway his father's opinion. "Pretty."

His father laughed. "Yes, that's about the sum total of their positive attributes. Come on, son, would you like to play in the gym while we wait for your Mummy and Dawn?"

Alex nodded eagerly and tried to skip on ahead, but his father grabbed his hand and made him walk slowly beside him.

They entered the gym and found another father and child making the same use out of the wide-open space. He had brought his daughter, probably the same age as Alex, to work off some nervous energy. She came running to greet the new arrivals.

"I'm Alex," the boy told her.

"Sarah," she answered.

He looked up at his father, who didn't seem too happy. Alex didn't think his father liked little girls. They always made him unhappy just by being there. And then one time, Alex had asked his parents for a sister for his birthday. But his mother had left the room crying, and he had told his father that if they didn't like little sisters, then he would take a little brother just as happily. His father had pulled him up onto his lap and had told him very seriously that Mommy and Daddy couldn't have any more children, and so Alex was a special little boy.

"I see you had the same solution in mind," Sarah's father said to his father. "Perhaps we shouldn't have stopped for ice cream first, because my wiggly little Sarah's on a sugar high." He tickled his daughter on the last words.

She giggled and turned to Alex. "Wanna play?"

He nodded and the two of them started running in circles. They raced from one end of the gym to the other, laughing as they each won in turns. They spun around until they were dizzy and fell on the floor giggling. Alex zoomed around in figure eights, with his arms outstretched and making buzzing sounds.

"Look, Daddy," he called. "I bubblebee! I plane! Fly! Fly!"

But his father was talking to the other man and not paying attention to him. That was when Alex noticed the bleachers along the wall. They were pushed up flat with only the little ledges sticking out. He wondered what it was like at the very top. He had seen mountain climbers on TV, pulling themselves up sheer rock face by their bare hands. Alex could be a mountain climber too.

He walked to the bottom step, looking up at the straight wall above him. He reached his hands to the second ledge, only making it on his tippy toes, and wiggled his legs up to the first ledge just below.

Sarah watched him with wide eyes, shaking her head. "Uh-oh. Bad boy."

Alex kept climbing, his fingers on one ledge as his feet pulled themselves up to the one just below it. He was only just tall enough to reach across two steps, and sometimes he had to stretch so far to grab the next that he would nearly slip from the last. But he always caught himself before he fell, and soon he was hauling himself up onto the narrow platform at the top of the bleachers. He stood on tippy toes and touched the ceiling of the gym. He turned around triumphantly.

"Look, Daddy, I mou'ain climb!"

He finally had his father's attention, but Daddy didn't look very happy. He sprinted the distance across the gym, calling urgently, "Alex, don't move. Stay right there."

The other man followed, saying, "We could pull the bleachers out a little, take the steps up to get him."

But when the man moved them a little, Alex could feel the narrow platform beneath him wobble, and his arms flailed as he tried to regain his balance.

"No," his father told the other man. "Don't move them. You'll knock him over."

His father looked up at him, his face very frightened. Alex wanted to tell his father not to be scared, because he wasn't. He could touch the ceiling from here, and it was really neat. He had never been this high up before, staring down at the people below him like he was king of the mountain.

"Alex," his father said very sternly. "Sit down right now and don't move. I'm coming up for you."

Daddy reached for one of the ledges, but his fingers were too big to fit and his toes only slid off from the small purchase. The other man was looking behind the bleachers, to see if there was a way up from the back. But Alex knew how to get down. He had seen it on the same show as the mountain climber. Parachuters. He could be a parachuter too and sail through the air like a bird.

"Daddy, catch!" Alex jumped. He soared like an eagle, like one of the paper airplanes his father would make for him at the store, like a pebble skimmed across a lake. It was only a moment, but it was a rush.

His father staggered as he caught him, stumbling back onto one knee and breathing hard.

"See? I climb." Alex smiled proudly.

"Yes, you certainly did." His father hugged him tightly to his chest, a little too tightly.

Alex squirmed, struggling to free himself from his father's grip. "I go 'gain," he insisted.

"I rather think not." His father stood back up, still holding tightly to his boy. "Most emphatically not," he added as he caught his breath.

Sarah's father joined them, his daughter leaning against his leg. "And I thought my girl was a handful. But your boy's got me beat."

Alex held up three fingers and informed the man, "I'm free."

Sarah's father laughed. "And how old will you be next year, little Alex?"

Alex frowned, clearly stumped. He stuck out another finger to his three and counted them aloud. "One, two, free, four." He held out the appropriate digits proudly. "Four!"

"Well, aren't you the little counter? Well done."

He smiled at the praise and proceeded to count for the man in Latin, Greek, and Sumerian. His own father laughed at the man's surprise and told him they had to go. Alex waved bye-bye to Sarah and her father as they left the gym and walked back along the length of the school hallway.

"Down," he demanded.

"No," his father responded, but he did the next best thing and let Alex ride up on his shoulders. They peeked through the theatre doors to see how soon before the play ended, and Alex caught a glimpse of Dawn kissing a boy. "They're just pretending," his father explained.

They strolled along the corridor, Alex asking many questions. Was that the room Dawnie went to school in? Did she have a locker? Could he climb inside one of the lockers? Were her teachers nice? Was school scary? When would he go to school? Would he go to school with Dawnie? His father answered all his questions patiently. Sometimes Mommy would get irritated with all his questions, but Daddy never did. He thought it was a good thing and had told Mommy so. He had used a big word. He had told her their son was inquisitive.

They reached the front doors of the school, and Alex pointed. "Ou'side."

"No, son, it's after dark."

Dark was a bad time. He never got to go out when it was dark. There were bad men out at night, and it was Mommy's job to stop them. A moment later and Alex saw the pretty blue and red lights in the parking lot and pointed again. "Mommy's car."

His father was just noticing the police car too. "No, not Mummy's car," he corrected, and then added under his breath, "I suppose we're not any safer in here. This is a public building with an open invite."

They walked out of the school and into the night air. Alex looked up to see all the pretty stars. Aunt Tara used to take him up to the roof where she and Aunt Willow lived. Tara would point out all the pretty stars for him, and they would make up names for what they looked like. When his pet turtle had died, they had named a star after it, so Tuck could live in the sky forever. Alex still didn't know which star to name after Aunt Tara. None of them seemed bright enough.

His father reached the police car, and in fact there were two cars. One of the officers came over to stop them from coming closer, and then noticed the boy on his father's shoulders.

"Well hello, Alex. Is your mother here?"

He nodded and pointed back to the school.

"Is everything alright?" his father asked.

The cop shook his head and glanced over his shoulder just beyond both cars. "Found a body. Some poor high school kid. Nothing the paramedics could do; there wasn't a drop of blood in him. We think it might be gang related. Kid had a mark burned into his chest with acid."

"Can I have a look?" Off the cop's puzzled expression, his father elaborated. "I'm familiar with some of the more obscure gang symbols."

The officer shrugged. "We're drawing a blank. If you can help, by all means." He held out his arms to Alex. "Come on, kid. Want to sit in the car and play with the siren?"

"Gun," Alex corrected. He knew what he liked.

His father hesitated before passing him over. The officer only laughed and assured the man, "The _radar_ gun. He meant the radar gun. His mother lets him play with it when she brings him by the station. Go on. Detective Cricks is with the body. Tell him I said it was okay for you to have a look."

His father handed him over and left. The officer bounced him a few times before climbing into the squad car. "Let's see what fun toys your pal Rick has for you, little Alex."

Alex played with the radar gun for a while. He understood that the numbers told him how fast something was going. He couldn't find much that was moving. He pointed it at his father, who was only going two. But then another car drove through the parking lot, and he aimed and pulled the trigger. Thirty-one.

"A little fast," Rick said, "but we have more important things to think about right now."

Alex played with the sirens and the lights. Rick let him call the nice lady from dispatch. She always had cherry suckers for him whenever Mommy brought him into work. Alex even got a little toy badge to pin on his shirt.

His father claimed him after a little while, and they went back inside the school.

"Look, Daddy," he said, pointing at the toy badge. "I cop like Mommy."

"Heaven forbid," his father muttered. "That's all I need. Why can't you pick something safe? How about a librarian, Alex? As long as your library's not sitting on a Hellmouth, you should be fine. Or an accountant? My accountant makes fairly good money. Or a grocer? I wanted to be a grocer when I was your age."

"Mou'ain climber?" Alex suggested, remembering his earlier adventure. "Pair'chute?"

His father sighed. "Why do I get the distinct impression that you're going to have me worried sick everyday for the rest of my life?"

Alex laid his head on his father's shoulder, wrapping little arms around his neck. "I drive big trucks like Uncie Xand? Vroom, vroom."

"Yes," his father answered, patting him on the back. "That doesn't tend to be a life threatening profession. Perhaps we will have to take you to visit Uncle Xander at work more often."

A few minutes later the theatre doors opened, and the audience began streaming out. He squealed his excitement when he caught sight of his mother, and she scooped him up from his father's arms, spinning him in circles.

"So, little Rabbit, wanna go backstage and tell your Auntie Dawnie just how wonderful she was?"

He nodded, and they walked down a side hallway, his father and Aunt Willow and Aunt Anya and Uncle Xander following behind. He told his mother all about his mountain climbing adventure and how he parachuted off the top and about Rick letting him play in the police car and then he showed her the badge he wore. The whole time he was talking, his mother stared over his head at Daddy, until Uncle Xander spoke up, laughing.

"Giles, you are in _sooo_ much trouble. She gives you the kid for less than an hour, and you have him jumping off of bleachers and sitting in cop cars while you look at dead bodies." Xander laughed. "I'm glad I'm not in your shoes right now."

And then Dawn came out the side door of the theatre, and Alex was squirming to be let down. "Auntie Dawnie!"

He raced over, his arms raised to be picked up. She obliged and almost dropped him several times until he was giggling and begging her, " 'Gain! 'Gain!"

Some other people he didn't know passed by to tell Dawn how well she did. Alex smiled and informed her proudly, "I wave at you."

"I saw, honey."

He was set down on the ground, everyone else crowding around her with their own congratulations. Alex slipped over to Aunt Anya's side. She wasn't allowed to pick him up anymore, because she had a baby growing in her tummy. So he just put his hand on her round stomach, and she smiled down at him, shifting his hand to one side until he could feel the baby moving inside her. He wanted to see the baby, but everyone kept telling him it would be three, almost four, months more. And then they would make jokes about when Alex was in his mother's tummy, and Uncle Xander would tell them all their jokes weren't funny. But Aunt Anya would say she liked the sound of four weeks better than four months, and Alex wouldn't understand why everyone was laughing.

Everyone came over to his house after the play, even Aunt Willow. Alex climbed up into her lap with a book, but she said she was too tired to read to him. It was really hard to get Aunt Willow to smile, especially now that Aunt Tara was in heaven. He remembered when Willow used to be happy all the time, and make all his stuffed animals float around the room, and sneak him out for ice cream after his parents said he couldn't have any. Now she was never happy and never did magic anymore. Mommy and Daddy told him that she missed Tara and would be herself again if they all gave her enough time. But Alex could see that his parents worried about her as much as he did.

Dawn had some of her friends over to celebrate after opening night, but Alex didn't know who any of them were. He climbed off Willow's lap and followed the teenagers into the kitchen when he heard them talking about cake. Dawn gave him a little piece with one of the frosting flowers on it. He ate it while sitting on her lap, listening to the older kids around him joking and teasing each other. They teased him too, and he was happy to be included in their group.

His father came looking for him, frowning at Dawn when he saw the cake. "You shouldn't have given him that so close to his bedtime."

Dawn kissed her nephew on the top of his head and smiled knowingly. "That's why I'm his favorite."

"Yes, well, it's not your bed he'll be climbing into after he gets a stomach ache tonight."

His father took him from her lap and washed his sticky fingers off under the sink, wiping his face with a wet paper towel until he was wiggling and squirming his face away from the wet rag.

"Time for bed," his father told him.

"No!" Alex protested.

"Yes," his father replied firmly. "Don't fight me about it, and you can have a story. Now go say goodnight to everyone."

"No bed!" Alex insisted, and then he began to cry. It wasn't fair. He always got sent to bed while everyone else was still up and having fun without him.

"Please, Alex, don't pitch a fit over this. I said I would read to you before bed."

But he continued to cry and kick his legs out against the kitchen counter and thrash in his father's arms. "I want Mommy!"

"She's only going to tell you it's time for bed too."

Mommy came in a moment later, and he held his arms out to her. She took him into her own arms, kissing away his tears, and saying to his father, "He can stay up a little while longer, Giles. It is a special occasion."

Alex sniffled for a moment and wiped the backs of his hands across his wet cheeks. He laid his head on his mother's shoulder and looked over at his father with some amount of smug satisfaction.

His father sighed. "Really, Buffy, how can you ever expect the boy to listen to me if you tell him he can do something as soon as I tell him he can't?"

Alex watched the silent argument between his parents until his mother finally lost, which meant of course that he did too. "Ok, Alex, Daddy says it's bedtime."

"No!" he screamed, throwing himself backwards in her arms, but she held him tight and headed out of the kitchen.

"Wave goodnight to everyone," she told him as they passed by the living room and up the stairs.

But he was too busy crying and begging to stay up just a little bit longer. "I be good," he promised. She wasn't swayed and continued up to his room. Just before the doors closed, he made one last effort. "I want Daddy!" he called, loudly enough for the whole house to hear.

Mommy only laughed and reminded him that Daddy was the one who sent him to bed in the first place.

Alex sat on his bed, watching through watery eyes as his mother pulled out pajamas and turned on his nightlight. She pulled off his clothes and slipped on his PJ's, even as he protested that he could do it himself. Then she carried him into the bathroom and set him on the counter to brush his teeth while she brushed hers with him, making funny faces around her toothbrush until he couldn't help but smile. When they'd finished, she washed the tears from his face with a cool washcloth and gave him a horsy ride back to his bedroom.

His mother tucked him into bed and pulled out the book his father had been reading to him the night before. They were just at the part where Charlotte had woven "super" into her web, and Wilbur wouldn't be eaten. Daddy liked to read to him, but Alex liked it better when Mommy did. She made up funny voices for each of the animals and silly faces to go along with them. Sometimes she would act out the scenes as she read them, until he would be giggling and trying to play along with her. Daddy would never read in funny voices or make silly faces. He would only read a book just as it was written and answer Alex's questions when he didn't understand something. And Daddy never, ever changed the ending.

Tonight, his mother read quietly, and he had to ask her to do the goose's voice. He yawned and couldn't remember if he had also asked her to do Wilbur's voice, because she wasn't doing that either. But then he closed his eyes while he listened, and soon after that he was fast asleep.

* * *

Giles woke when he felt a soft tap on his arm. He opened his eyes to see Alex standing beside the bed.

"Can I s'eep wif you?"

"Do you have a stomach ache?" Sometimes Alex got sick during the night if he ate too much junk before going to bed. They'd gone for ice cream before the play, and Dawn had fed him cake. Giles couldn't remember if the boy had eaten more than two bites of his actual dinner.

But Alex only shook his head, his little chin quivering.

"Did you have a bad dream?"

The boy nodded and repeated his request. "Can I s'eep wif you?"

Giles sighed and started to climb out of bed. "How about if I lay with you in your bed, just until you fall asleep?"

But then he felt Buffy's hands pulling him back to her side. "Just let him sleep with us, Giles. It won't hurt anything. Come on, sweetheart, you can get in bed with us."

Giles could barely keep the irritation from his voice. "Buffy, he has to learn to sleep in his own bed sometime. I can't remember a night in the last two months where there wasn't three of us in this bed." But he lifted his son up and laid him between the two of them. The boy immediately shifted over into his mother's arms, and Buffy wrapped herself around the child, smoothing his hair back and stroking his cheeks.

She looked over at Giles with an expression that brooked no argument. "I'm the expert on nightmares here. If he's having bad dreams and wants to sleep with us, then he can. I was in _high school_, and I still slept with Mom sometimes when the nightmares were really bad."

Giles felt like quite the heartless monster at the moment. "Buffy, I'm so sorry. I had no idea…"

"It's okay. Just come snuggle with us."

He curled up closer to Buffy, their son sandwiched between them. Alex's eyes were already closing, and one thumb found its way into his mouth. Giles pulled the offending thumb out, but the other one only replaced it. He pulled that one out too, and Alex's eyes opened long enough to give his father an irritated glare.

"Don't!"

Alex was sleepy and crabby, and finally Giles just relented and let him suck his thumb. The boy tucked his head beneath his mother's chin and fell fast asleep. Buffy smiled, and then her eyes closed as well. Giles leaned over to place a kiss on her mouth, eliciting another smile and a hand on the back of his head to deepen the kiss. She sighed contentedly, her eyes still closed, and he lay there, their foreheads pressed together, simply watching her.

Buffy made a wonderful mother to Alex, although she usually left it up to Giles to be the disciplinarian. Sometimes that bothered him, and he hated being the one who always said no. He had to admit that some part of that was jealousy, since Alex seemed to prefer Buffy whenever given a choice. He would want to sit in his mother's lap, and go to the store with her, and have her read to him at night. Giles wondered if he wouldn't be more favored if he were the one doing more of the spoiling and Buffy were the one saying no and handing out time-outs.

Other times, he didn't mind being the "stompy foot" as Buffy called it. When he watched the two of them together, there were times he could see the fear in Buffy's eyes, like she knew her time with her son was running out. She had just turned 24. Two more years, and she would match the record for oldest slayer. After that, and they would be into uncharted territory. Buffy didn't know this, of course, but Giles did. He felt it every night when she went on patrol, even if he went with her. He felt it like a cold grip of panic around his insides that sometimes choked away his very breath. Those were the times he didn't begrudge her being the favorite. He would have a lifetime with Alex, and she would not. Giles didn't want her to waste the time she did have doling out punishments and playing the heavy. He wanted his son's memories of her to be of walks in the parks, and trips to the zoo, and bedtime stories, and nights like this, when he slept in her arms.

She felt her time with her husband slipping away too. Sometimes his fingers would find tears trailing down her cheeks after they made love. She would laugh away his concerns, saying that it had just been _that_ good. She would make grand gestures, which always angered Giles, more than pleased him. She had thrown him a huge birthday party the past year, even flying in some of his old friends from England, friends he hadn't seen since moving to Sunnydale. They had a huge fight in the kitchen, away from the guests, over something trivial that Giles couldn't even remember now. And he had a good memory. His anger had come more from the sense that she was ready to give up, that she had arranged a lavish party for him because she knew it would be the last birthday they spent together.

And then there were the close calls, the times she barely made it home. There seemed to be an apocalypse to avert every year, but worse than that were the times she was injured on routine patrols. Sometimes while she was alone or with one of the others, sometimes right in front of his eyes while he was powerless to stop it. Twice she had landed in the hospital, and Giles had thought he really had lost her. Most of the close calls gave her cuts and bruises he could just treat at home. Sometimes she wasn't hurt at all, except for the knowledge that a second either way and she would have been dead.

Giles would tend her hurts, whether that meant washing away her blood and taping her cuts, or wrapping her sprained joints, or whether that meant simply drying her tears and holding her until her fear passed. And then there would always come the moment when she would turn very quiet, when her tears would stop, when she would be so very calm and so much older than her age, older than even he, when she would be the oldest woman that Giles had ever known.

Buffy would demand the promises from her watcher. She would trap him with her slayer strength, and he had no choice but to stand there and listen to her as she brought him to tears with what she asked of him, as she denied him even the smallest mercy of his dignity and private grief. She would wrest the promises through his sobs, until he would promise her anything if she would just let him go, if he wouldn't have to stand there and listen to anymore. Promises that Alex wouldn't be drafted into the Watcher's Council. Promises that Dawn would be made to finish college, no matter what thrilling acting job presented itself. Promises that Willow and Xander and Anya and the coming baby would be watched over. Promises that Giles himself would find someone after she had gone, would remarry and be happy without her. Worst of all, the promises for her funeral arrangements, for the money that would come from her substantial life insurance. The hardest promise to give: to cremate her. Dust and ash, the end she had brought to so many vampires was the end that she wanted. No fear of being turned, of having her body stolen. Just dust and ash, and she didn't care what he did with it.

No matter how many times he promised, she would want to hear it the next time too. The promises had changed over the years. At first, when Alex had been smaller, she had been terrified that she would die while he was too young to remember her. Giles had promised that their son would know her through him, that he would keep her alive through stories and pictures and home movies, that Alex would always know how much she loved him.

But the final promise had never changed. He made the same vow every time. That he would find their daughter and bring her home, no matter how long it took.

And then Buffy would be satisfied and hold him until his sobs quieted, and Giles would feel as if he had mourned her so many times his heart would break from it. If she were injured, he would finish tending her wounds, his hands still shaking, his breathing still ragged. And if she were not, he would retreat the moment she released him, burying his grief in a book and a bottle of Guinness.

Giles glanced over at the clock on the nightstand. 4:16am. He couldn't fall back asleep. His mind was spinning down paths best left untouched. Plus, there was the matter of the symbol burned into the body found outside the high school.

He gently slipped his arm out from under Buffy's head, careful not to wake her. He paused for a moment after climbing out of bed, checking to make sure that wife and son were still sleeping peacefully. Then he grabbed his robe and made his way quietly down to the living room. One bookcase and a desk were all that remained of the study he had sacrificed for Alex's bedroom. The rest of his collection he stored at the shop, doing most of his research there or else carting the necessary volumes back and forth between work and home. As much as Giles would miss Dawn when she started college in the fall, he was already looking forward to converting her room into his study.

As expected, the volumes he needed were not on his shelf, but rather at the shop. He flipped through the pages of the books that he _did_ have, absently searching for the symbol he had seen burned into the dead flesh. It didn't seem the least bit familiar, and he hoped some of his more obscure texts on vampire cults would show him the symbol and provide him some information on who had done it. He was fairly certain a vampire was responsible. The victim had been drained of blood with the telltale puncture marks at his neck.

What worried him was that the detective said it wasn't an isolated occurrence. It was the third body bearing that mark in as many months. Giles would have to ask Buffy to look into it when she reported for duty on Monday.

That turned his mind in whole new direction, one he was just as desperate to avoid and just as powerless to stop. His wife was a cop.

Of all the things Buffy could have chosen to do with her life, she had to pick a day job that equaled the danger of her night job. She had managed to graduate with Willow and Tara, taking summer school and a full credit load to make up the semesters she had missed after her mother's death and her own pregnancy. Giles had watched Alex at the shop while she was at school or working on papers. And when she had walked across the stage in her cap and gown, they had waved at her from the audience, Alex only 16 months old and not understanding why he couldn't go up on stage with Mommy, Dawn trying to distract him with the itsy-bitsy spider, Xander making jokes about how much better this was than her high school graduation, and Anya complaining that it was too hot to be outside. Giles had been so proud of his slayer.

He didn't know why he had expected Buffy to go on to graduate school with Willow and Tara. School had never been her thing. But he had certainly never expected her to bring home admission brochures for the Police Academy. They'd had the biggest fight of their lives over that, and it had lasted for days. He'd slept on the couch, and every morning it would be the same argument until one of them would storm out of the house.

Giles had been under the mistaken impression that he had some say in the matter. At first Buffy had tried to reason with him. She already had more combat skills and experience than any officer on the force. Now she would just learn how to use a gun and be able to call for backup when she needed it. Plus, she could turn the sirens on, and everyone would have to get out of _her_ way. That last had instead become an argument against the Academy, since Giles could only imagine how fast and recklessly Buffy would drive if she had sirens and no worries about getting a ticket.

Buffy thought her career choice fit perfectly with a life as the Slayer. She would catch bad guys during the day and would kill bad demons during the night. It could only help to have someone on the inside, and she would be able to access information that even Willow couldn't hack. She would be called to the scene of a crime while she still had some chance to save the victim. They wouldn't ever have to fight the law at the same time they were trying to fight the forces of darkness. And her slaying would never become suspicious if she had the cover of a cop on patrol.

None of that had swayed Giles, who only wanted a safe, normal job for her during the day, one where he wouldn't have to wonder whether she would make it home for dinner. She may be the Slayer, with superhuman strength and healing, but even the Slayer was not immune to gunfire. And Sunnydale may not be LA, but it was on a Hellmouth, and a cop in Sunnydale had a shorter life expectancy than one in LA.

Buffy had finally given up on trying to convince Giles and had ended the argument. He didn't get to make this choice for her. This was what she wanted, and he would just have to deal with it. She was going to be a cop, and he could either divorce her and find her another watcher, or support her and help her through it. There had followed a few days of complete silence and more nights on the couch. They would each talk to Alex and Dawn, but not to each other.

Giles had finally known when he was beaten. He was too stubborn for apologies or sweeping romantic overtures for forgiveness. Especially since he was not wrong about this. He had simply gotten up one night and gone upstairs to climb into bed beside her. To her credit, she hadn't demanded any apologies or concessions from him. She hadn't questioned why he was there. She had simply scooted over in the bed until she was lying on top of him, falling asleep in his arms, and they had never talked about it again.

Buffy had breezed through the Police Academy in record time. Her physical prowess had amazed her instructors. The full training had lasted six months, but by the third month, she was helping to teach basic self-defense and showing her fellow recruits innovative ways to break choke holds and block attacks. Even her instructors couldn't take her down, and she had graduated at the top of her class.

She had been hired immediately, which Giles said was only proof that the department lost officers faster than it could replace them. He had spent the past year and a half grumbling about her job and trying not to panic whenever the phone rang. She had tried to calm his fears and assured him that she was only a rookie, and that they never sent her on the dangerous calls, and that she was at far more risk when she patrolled at night as the Slayer.

None of her well-intentioned assurances mattered on nights like this, when he was up at five in the bloody morning, wishing that Monday would never come so he could keep her here safe at home. Sometimes the more irrational part of his mind would wish that he could get her pregnant again, so she would _have_ to stay home, no slaying, no police department, no worries for eight or nine weeks.

He sighed and closed the book. He wasn't in any frame of mind to research. He didn't have the books he needed anyway. He went in the kitchen to make himself some tea. He would watch the sunrise and enjoy what he could of his Saturday morning before heading out to the Magic Box. And as long as he was up this early, he would make the weekly phone call. Vampires were nocturnal, after all.

The water boiled, and he left his tea to steep. He lifted the receiver, still surprised after all these years that he should still feel the slightest bit of hope stir in his chest, but he did.

The calls were short and the same every week.

"It's Giles. Anything?"

"Sorry. Nothing."

"Thank you." Click. It had become easier and easier to say thank you to Angel. The conversations used to be longer. Sometimes Wesley or Cordelia used to answer. Someone used to tell him what they had done over the past week. People they had talked to. Places they had been. The conversations had shortened over the months and years. Angel came to expect the calls every Saturday morning and soon made sure he was the one to answer them. By now the calls were scripted, the same exact words every week.

Giles didn't know anymore if Angel Investigations still bothered to look for his daughter or if they had given up hope and were only humoring him. But the weekly calls were the ritual he still clung to. Giles himself had nothing left to try, no more leads left to follow, no more favors left to call in. They had hired their own investigators until the money had slowly slipped away, until the store was mortgaged and the house too. He had sold his flat across town and some property in England. He would never be going back there again anyway. What money they could afford to spend, they spent. And it still wasn't enough to buy him back his daughter. Not even Buffy's contacts on the force had brought them any closer.

Giles sat at the kitchen island with his tea and a book he didn't read. It was an hour later before he remembered that he had forgotten to go outside and watch the sunrise. It was a few minutes after that when his son came toddling out into the kitchen, wiping the sleep from his eyes.

"Good morning," Giles said with a smile.

It was only a quarter after six, and Alex was still sleepy. He held out his arms to be picked up, and Giles lifted him onto his lap. The boy was an early riser, as his mother was not, and mornings tended to be their time together.

"Would you like some cereal?"

"Crap."

Giles chuckled. "Crepes? With strawberries like Aunt Dawn likes?"

Alex nodded eagerly and grabbed for his father's tea. Giles pushed it quickly out of reach. "Caffeine and three-year olds, not a pleasant mix." They had let him have some once, thinking he would spit it out in disgust and that would be the end of his demands, but he actually liked tea. Buffy had laughed, saying that only proved who his father was.

One only had to look at the boy to know who his father was. Alex had his father's sandy brown hair, and green eyes, and the shape of his mouth and chin. In fact, Giles could see nothing of Buffy in the boy at all, which weighed on his heart and made him fear her loss all the more. The child had learned some of her mannerisms, though, including her pout and puppy dog eyes, which Giles found strange coming from his own green eyes. Alex was smaller than other boys his age, still trying to catch up from being a twin. In spite of his size, the boy was fearless. The swan dive off the bleachers was only one of many close calls, and Giles often wondered whose bright idea it had been to teach the child to walk.

He balanced his son on his left hip as he cooked with his right hand, even breaking the eggs deftly with only the one set of fingers. He used to be left-handed, but ever since Angelus, he found himself doing more with his right. His left hand still ached sometimes, and his left leg too, mostly on the days where he did too much with them. But he only limped on those days where he pushed himself too hard, which was a better recovery than the doctor had expected for him.

He felt Alex's head against his shoulder, the child's soft breaths against his neck, and Giles was filled with an overpowering love that he couldn't have imagined before becoming a father. He had loved before; he had loved Buffy and Jenny and all the children that had somehow wandered into his protection. But he hadn't been lying to Buffy before the final battle with Glory, before the battle that killed her. He had told her that he loved Dawn, but that he would kill her to protect this sorry world. And Buffy hadn't been lying either, when she had warned him that she would kill him if he tried. He understood now what Buffy had felt that day. Giles knew he would give anything for Alex. He would have given Angelus the secret of Acathla to save his son and to hell with the rest of the world.

He sat the boy down with his breakfast and a glass of milk. Giles joined him a moment later, and they ate in silence. By the time Alex had eaten half his meal, he was more awake, and squirming on the kitchen stool.

"Done. Down."

"Two more bites," Giles insisted firmly.

Alex obeyed, while swinging his legs back and forth off the end of the stool. He pushed his plate back on the final bite, clearly indicating that he would take no more. "Go park."

"Yes," Giles answered, collecting the dishes and rinsing them in the sink. "Your mother's taking you to the park when she gets up." Catching the glint in his son's eyes, he added very firmly. "No, you may not wake her up. She didn't get home from patrol until very late." How strange to think that word now had a double meaning. With the others, he had to specify whether Buffy was slaying or working.

He washed the sticky fingers under the sink, and the sticky face as well. When he was finished, he set the boy down and led him by the hand up to his room.

"Now let's both get dressed, shall we?"

Alex had reached the age where he liked to pick out his own clothes, but he wasn't quite at the age where he was any good at it. Giles discouraged some of his choices, until the boy was finally dressed in an acceptable outfit.

"Daddy go park?" he asked.

Giles helped him with the buttons of his overalls as he answered. "Daddy will join you this afternoon. I have to work at the shop this morning."

They slipped into the bedroom where Buffy was still sleeping. Giles collected clothes to wear to the Magic Box, carrying the boy to prevent him from waking his mother. Giles dressed in the bathroom while Alex brushed his teeth and mimicked the actions of his father shaving. Giles let him smear on some shaving cream and smiled as Alex mirrored each stroke of the razor with his own little finger. He always wanted to help, and Giles always had to remind him that the razor was too sharp. They both washed the remaining spots of foam from their faces, and Giles finished with aftershave, giving Alex a few drops as well.

They started back downstairs again, Giles needing to quickly head off the boy before he could make it in to wake Buffy. Giles was somewhat more lax about Dawn, and let Alex slip into her room.

"Hey!" she complained when she woke to a giggling three-year old on her chest.

"Late night?" Giles asked with a smirk, leaning against her doorframe.

She glared at him with that long-suffering expression unique to teenagers, the kind that only tempted him to push her buttons even more. "You never let him wake up Buffy," she whined.

"Your sister was out until two this morning. And then up again at four when someone came into bed with us after I told you not to give him cake." Giles straightened his tie, crossed his arms, and began to study her ceiling very casually. "You, on the other hand, if I recall, went to bed promptly at 10:30, and so should have had plenty of sleep by now."

Alex was trying to tickle her, and she batted his hands away in irritation. "That doesn't mean I went to sleep right away. I could have been on the net or something."

Giles sighed and fixed her with a level stare. "Yes, of course, you sent all your friends home from your opening night party after only an hour, so you could come up here and use the computer."

"Maybe."

"Don't lie to me, Dawn. You climbed out the window and sneaked off. This used to be Buffy's room, remember? She made ample use of that tree when she was your age."

"So what if I did?" Dawn countered. "I'm eighteen now, and I can do what I like."

Giles strolled into her room. He took a deep breath. God, he couldn't believe he was about to say it. His father used to say it to him, and he had sworn the same words would never pass through his lips. "As long as you live in my house, you will follow my rules. We have a front door for a reason, and you will use it. Climb out the window again, and I will cut that tree down. Are we clear?"

She shrugged noncommittally. "I don't see what the big deal is. I got home before Buffy did."

He closed the rest of the distance between them, sitting on her bed and pulling Alex into his lap. "Dawn, I shouldn't even need to tell you this. You're not ignorant of the dangers that are out there at night. Your classmates may have an excuse but you should know better. We just want to keep you safe. If something had happened to you last night, and we had both thought you were asleep in your room, no one would have realized it until morning."

"I was careful," she insisted. "I took a cross."

Alex started squirming in his lap, impatient with this conversation. Dawn tickled her nephew's feet, playing with the boy and not meeting Giles' eyes. He pressed on. "Dawn, I know Buffy may not like to consider this possibility. She still thinks of you as her little sister. But you're of an age... And it would be highly probable... Well, it has crossed my mind that you might have a boyfriend. It would actually be highly unlikely for a girl your age _not_ to have had at least one boyfriend by now. And you have become quite an attractive young lady..."

"Giles," she said softly, sparing him from any further babble. "I've had a boyfriend."

He paused for a moment, but she didn't continue. "I rather thought so," he said. He waited, but she didn't elaborate, and he wasn't really sure if he wanted the details anyway. "You don't have to climb out windows in the middle of the night to see him. You could invite him over sometime. Although, without actually inviting him in, you know, just to be safe."

Dawn laughed hard at that, until tears were streaming down her face. Alex laughed too, without really knowing what they were laughing at. Finally, she had to bite her lip to compose herself and dismiss his concerns. "Trust me. He doesn't need an invite."

"Well, in any case, you needn't keep him a secret from us. I think Buffy would be hurt by it. I'm sure she would consider this a big sister, sharing sort of thing."

Dawn quickly became more somber. "I wanted to tell you guys, but I was afraid you would freak out."

"Give us a little credit. When your sister dated Angel again after he returned from hell, I didn't 'freak out.' Perhaps a little at first, but still. And as your sister is often fond of reminding me, she did catch me with your mother after the band candy. Well, you would know best how she handled that."

Dawn flopped back against her pillows. "It totally wigged her out."

Giles sighed. "Well, how much worse can your young man be?"

Dawn groaned. "Just don't say anything yet, okay? I'll tell her, but not yet."

Giles nodded reluctantly, not relishing the idea of keeping secrets from Buffy. They were silent for a moment before Alex piped up, "Dawnie boy'fend?"

She pulled the covers over her head and lamented, "God, Alex, you're going to rat me out, aren't you?"

Giles rose from her bed, pulling his son into his arms as he went. "It would appear that you should tell your sister sooner rather than later."

She remained under the covers, and called out to him as he left, "Wake me when it's time for college."

He spent the rest of the early morning downstairs with Alex, reading to him and coloring and doing any number of other activities that would keep him quietly occupied so his mother could sleep. Finally, Giles could wait no longer, or else he wouldn't be able to open the shop on time. He allowed the boy to at last wake his mother, which Alex wasted no time in accomplishing. Giles kissed her goodbye and left for the Magic Box.

Whatever time he wasn't spending with customers, he used to research the symbol from the body the night before. When Anya came in mid-morning, he started her on the same task. They were looking for a crescent moon turned on its side, with a lightning bolt straight through the center. Anya took one look at his hastily reproduced drawing and announced that she had never seen the thing before, as if that were all he required of her. He quickly set her straight with a stack of books, and she complained that a large amount of reading wasn't good for the baby. Off his withering stare, she grudgingly cracked the first book.

Several times Giles found himself wishing things back the way they were, when the whole Scoobie gang would tackle research together. The bulk of that duty had fallen back on him, which was, he supposed, how watchers had done it since the beginning. Perhaps he had grown lax in his studies or overly dependant on the others, but he preferred to think that the team effort was what had kept Buffy alive for so long. Anya usually helped when she could, and sometimes her eleven hundred and some odd years of experiences could point him in directions he wouldn't have otherwise thought of going. Of course, Buffy, Xander, and Dawn too, now that she was older, all pitched in with what they could. But research and poring through old books had never been Buffy or Xander's specialties, and Dawn had understandably developed a distaste for all Hellmouth and apocalypse related things. She just wanted to be a normal girl and forget all about having once been the Key.

Tara had always been so quiet, so much in the background, that Giles had never realized how much she held the group together until after she was gone. She had always been the one to bring the gossip and the jokes and the teasing banter back on topic. She knew how to gently rein in her friends before they went too far and when to suggest that they all needed a break. She always thought of everyone else first and never once complained, even though none of this was her responsibility or her calling.

When Tara died, she took Willow with her. The young witch was only a shadow of her former self. Willow no longer researched with the group or touched magic in any form. Giles knew she blamed herself for Tara's death, and he knew exactly how she felt. He had gone through the same thing after Eyghon and Randall. And just as Giles had buried himself in his watcher's studies, Willow buried herself in her graduate work, spending less and less time with the friends that had once been her whole world. Giles had hoped that time would bring her back into the fold, but it had been over four months and she only seemed to drift further away. He even considered tracking down Oz to help her through her grief, but he couldn't find the werewolf through any contacts in Tibet or Bombay or Jerusalem or any other place he thought the young man might go.

Without Willow or Tara, he was lost on the computers, and Anya was a poor substitute. He felt their loss in the research too, realizing now that they had nearly been his equal in their familiarity with the library and the ease with which they found the pertinent facts from its volumes. Willow had even begun to pick up some of the languages in the texts: a little Gallic, a little Latin, bits of other languages he hadn't known she studied until she would point out a relevant passage to him, knowing the correct translation herself. Now he was the only one who could sift through the texts that weren't in English. Anya knew phrases in French, German, a few demonic languages, but the moment she was trapped in her mortal guise, she had lost the multi-lingual talents she possessed as a vengeance demon and was no longer fluent in any of them. For the first time in nine years, Giles was experiencing what it was truly like to be a Watcher.

If the two witches were nearly his equals in research, then they had definitely surpassed him in magic. Separate, they were each formidable. Together, their power was astounding. That was where he felt their absence most keenly. He had been a rather impressive sorcerer in his youth, but after Randall he had stopped practicing. After more than twenty years of disuse, his skills were lacking, and with Willow and then Tara on the team, there had been no need for him to brush up. He had the knowledge, but not the practice. And now the few spells he had tried… Well, he regretted ever being so harsh with Willow when her magic backfired. It was the difference between reading about swordplay and actually wielding a blade to save your life.

Swordplay. Giles suddenly remembered seeing the crescent moon speared with a lightning bolt. It had been painted on a sword, wielded by a demonic soldier in one of his books' illustrations. Now if he could only remember which book.

He wished again for Willow and Tara. A familiar pang of guilt immediately followed that thought, that he should only regret Tara's death in these moments when he needed their help. But that was not all there was to it, he assured himself. He genuinely missed the girl. Tara had grown on him, and more than any of the others, she had been like him. Quiet. Reserved. Not overly emotionally demonstrative. She had possessed a quick mind and a quiet strength. She had even tended to get tongue-tied or stutter when she was nervous, one of his own faults as well.

He did miss Tara, and more than that, he hated what her death was doing to Willow. This was by far worse than when Oz left. Giles couldn't even interest her in newly acquired books, or spells that he really shouldn't be showing her, or in recent archeological finds. Sometimes it seemed like she couldn't bear to even come in the magic shop anymore, so they had her over to the house as often as she would come.

Giles removed his glasses and rubbed his weary eyes. Five volumes, and he still couldn't find the lithograph with the symbol on the sword. Anya didn't seem to be having any luck either. Giles' mind reasoned through the only clues they had so far:

A crescent moon turned on its side with a lightning bolt through its center. The moon. Usually tied to cults that involved themselves with a goddess figure. Perhaps tipped on its side to symbolize the dethroning of such a female deity. Perhaps he should look for a male centered cult. Or perhaps it was not a moon, but an archway, or a gateway. Perhaps an image of the sun rising over the horizon. No, something about this reminded him of the moon.

The lightning bolt. Usually a representation of raw power: the power of nature, the power of magic, the symbol for a myriad of different kinds of power. Perhaps the bolt through the moon symbolized the destruction of the female goddess by that power, or the theft of her power by a greater force?

Giles glanced at his watch. After one o'clock. He was already late for his rendezvous in the park with his family. The afternoon help had arrived for her shift. He had hired Charity a few months after Tara's death. Not to replace her, he rationalized, but rather to help Anya with the tasks she could no longer do while pregnant.

He gave Anya a few suggestions to continue with the research, knowing she would abandon the books for the financial ledgers as soon as he had left. He asked Charity to keep her boss on track and hide the ledgers for the time being. He grabbed a stack of books for himself and headed out to the park.

He saw them at a distance. Buffy and Alex were playing tag through the grass and then weaving back and forth between the swings and the merry-go-round. Dawn and Xander were stretched out on a blanket a short distance from the playground. Willow, as usual, was absent. Alex caught sight of his father mid-run, and simply changed direction, his little arms flailing through the air as he came charging, screaming, "Daddy! Daddy!"

His son's joy at his arrival never ceased to lift even his darkest mood. Giles nearly dropped his stack of books when he stopped the boy's momentum with one arm and lifted him up into a warm embrace. It never mattered whether it had been a day or an hour; Alex always greeted him with the same enthusiasm.

"I go slide," his son informed him. "Swing high. Go monkey by self."

Giles had reached the others by then, Buffy meeting him halfway. He raised a questioning eyebrow in her direction. "He made it all the way across the monkey bars by himself?"

"Yeah," she confirmed. "I couldn't believe it. He didn't fall once. Come on, Alex, let's go show Daddy."

He leaned over for his mother to take him, and the two headed off to the monkey bars. Giles sat down on the blanket with his stack of books. Xander looked over with a wry grin.

"More research?"

Giles passed him a book. "Yes, and your help would be greatly appreciated. We're looking for anything that has this specific symbol." He offered out the same drawing he had shown Anya.

Xander studied it for a moment, frowning. "Looks like a bow with one messed up arrow."

Giles reached across and rotated the paper 90 degrees. "I believe it's a crescent moon tipped on its side with a lightning bolt running through its center."

"Oh," Xander said. "That makes much more sense. I was about to comment on your lousy artistry." And then he dutifully cracked open his book, paging through it as he lay on his back on the blanket.

Dawn groaned. "It's Saturday. You're not supposed to work today."

"Unfortunately the demon population is not aware of that fact," Giles told her, as he passed a book to her as well. She huffed in irritation, rolling over onto her stomach and paging slowly through the book he gave her.

Giles looked up to see his son hanging from the monkey bars. His little arms shook as he dropped each rung and reached for the next. Buffy walked just behind him, ready to catch him should he fall. Sure enough, he made it all the way across. He spun to face his audience, his arms raised triumphantly, and his father applauded for him. Alex turned back to his mother, and the two resumed their game of chase. She caught him as they bounded over the sandbox, tossing him into the air again and again as he cried, "Higher!"

Xander watched them together for a minute or so, shaking his head and laughing. He threw Giles a look over the top of his book. "Momma's boy has a whole different meaning when your mom's the Slayer."

Giles chuckled and quickly agreed.

Next: Part 2: Little Girl Lost, Little Girl Found


	2. Little Girl Lost, Little Girl Found

ORIGINALLY POSTED: August 29, 2001  
TITLE: The Family Business  
AUTHOR: JK Philips  
RATING: PG (some swearing)  
SUMMARY: After the events of The Ticking Clock, Buffy and Giles are still looking for their  
daughter. Can they save her from a terrible fate?  
SPOILERS: Everything up to "The Gift"  
DISCLAIMER: I do not own these characters; they are the property of Joss Whedon,  
Mutant Enemy & Fox. I simply am doing this for fun, and non-profit use.

* * *

Part 2: Little Girl Lost, Little Girl Found

"Willow Rosenberg, right?"

Willow glanced up from the papers she was grading. She came to the library to be left alone, not to socialize. But she plastered on a fake smile anyway and set her pen down on top of her stack of papers before turning to face her visitor. It might be one of the undergrads from the class she TA'd, after all, and it wouldn't do to scare them off. The students were scared enough of Professor Allens as it was. They wouldn't have anyone to help them if Willow started alienating these poor freshmen too.

But the woman wasn't familiar, and was definitely too old to be in Willow's class. She was probably in her late 20's, with cropped brown hair that curled around her ears and a trim petite frame that reminded Willow somewhat of Buffy.

"Yes, I'm Willow," she answered, watching as the woman slid into the seat beside her.

"Hi, I'm Sabrina Perkins." She leaned forward, her eyes darting around to inventory the people at the surrounding tables. She lowered her voice. "Someone told me you were a witch."

The smile dropped from Willow's face, and one hand absently brushed a lock of red hair behind her ear. "I don't know who told you that, but it's not true. Witches! Please. I'm just a history TA. Maybe some kid in my class didn't like the grade I gave them, but-"

Sabrina interrupted before Willow could continue protesting too much. "Tara helped me out with a protection spell a couple years ago. She said you were better at the magic, but I thought she did pretty good. She's actually the reason I got into magic. I was so sorry to hear she died. She was a really nice woman. A little shy. I wish I'd gotten to know her better. But I just wanted to tell you I'm sorry."

Willow looked down at her papers again. Her hand began fidgeting with the pen. She replied very softly, "Thank you. Not many people knew her that well, but… yeah… she was really nice."

"I wanted to say I'm sorry, but that's not the only reason I wanted to talk to you. I know you and Tara used to do the magic together, but now… Well, there's a group of us, _real_ witches, not the Wicca-wanna-blessed-be's, and we would really like it if you came over sometime and cast with us."

Willow felt her throat constrict and her heart race at the mere thought. She gathered her papers a bit too abruptly and shoved them into her book bag. "Thanks, but no thanks. I don't do magic anymore. Umm… Sorry, but I gotta run. I forgot. There's this… thing I have to go to."

Sabrina stopped her with a gentle hand on the forearm. "I understand. Really, it's okay. After my partner died, I felt the same way. No one else really got it. I think they all thought it was just a phase, a college thing. Everyone just expected me to pick up and move on, like Abigail had been a faithful dog or something. Sometimes it felt like I couldn't talk to anyone about it, and I never thought I would ever be able to do the things we did together again. But one day I met someone. Not _someone_ someone, just a friend, but we started doing magic again, and there was this whole group of us doing spells, and it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. Doing the magic again… I think it helped me remember Abigail even _more_. It's like she's with me every time I feel the magic."

Sabrina held out a small business card with her name and phone number. "I just wanted you to know that if you ever need to talk to someone who will understand… If you're ever ready to use your gifts again… I'm here. Even if you don't want to do the magic, that's okay. You can just come and talk with us, make some friends that weren't _her_ friends too. I know how important that was for me." Sabrina smiled sympathetically. "I'm always really good at reading people. It's one of _my_ gifts. And I can see you, Willow Rosenberg, the real you that's underneath all this grief. I just want to help you if I can. And I sorta feel like I owe it to Tara to at least try."

Willow took the offered card and slipped it quickly in her pocket. She did feel something like a kindred spirit in this other woman, who might understand as the others could not. Buffy and Giles had each other. Xander and Anya had each other. What did any of them know about losing someone they loved so dearly? Well, okay, Giles had lost Jenny and Buffy had killed Angel, but they sure didn't _act_ like they understood her grief. And some part of her had always suspected that her friends considered Tara to be just a little college experimentation.

As soon as Tara had died, Giles had been on the phone looking for Oz. Like she wouldn't figure out what he was trying to do from the rushed goodbyes and hang-ups as soon as she walked in the room or from the various books on lycanthropy that he had taken a sudden interest in once again. Like she would just return to her first love if he came back to town. Like Oz could ever replace Tara. Willow knew that, just like everyone else, Giles thought she was only experimenting with the gay thing and if he could bring her old boyfriend back, she would just go straight again. And all would be right in the Scooby world once more.

Sometimes Willow considered confronting Giles about it. But that would just have been too much work. He would want her to talk about it. Everyone was always trying to get her to talk about it, even though she could tell they were sick of hearing about it. Willow, at least, was sick of hearing variations on the theme: "Time heals all wounds." Screw that. It had been over four months, and time was verging on medical malpractice.

Sabrina gave Willow's arm a gentle squeeze, and the redhead responded with a sad smile. "Thank you," she told her new friend. "I'll think about it. Maybe I'll come by sometime to meet everyone. But, really, I won't do the magic."

"No pressure." Sabrina rose from her seat. "I'll let you get back to grading your papers. I didn't mean to chase you out of the library."

Willow watched the other witch leave. She felt an irrational pang of guilt. Was she attracted to this petite brunette? No, she couldn't be. She still missed Tara. Sabrina was nothing more than a new friend. An attractive friend, but just a friend all the same.

* * *

Whoosh. Clang. Swoosh. The blades of each sword sang as they danced through the air, as steel met steel and then came apart. Giles felt each impact reverberate up his arm. He had kept his opponent at bay for some time, but now he was being slowly backed into a corner. He parried the approaching blade swiftly, but his answering thrusts were deftly turned aside, his own momentum used against him to send him stumbling three steps back.

"So Dawn has a boyfriend, huh?"

Buffy came at him with a series of forceful swings he blocked easily with a minimum of effort. Would she ever learn to forgo the dramatic for the practical? She was expending far too much energy on each stroke and giving her opponent far too much warning. He jabbed forward, tapped aside her parry, and thrust again, almost nailing her thigh. He had her on the defensive now, and she was moving back to gain more maneuverability.

"What… gives… you… that… idea?" Giles might be a skilled swordsman, and he might be holding his own at the moment, but squaring off against his slayer inevitably left him winded.

"A little Rabbit told me," she answered, as she ducked his thrust and rolled across the floor, coming up behind him. He barely turned in time to block her swing, and their swords locked together as she pressed him several steps back. She smiled smugly. "So who is it?"

"I… don't… know." He spun to the side and let her momentum carry her forward before he followed with his own more economical swings.

"I think you're holding out on me. I think I'm gonna have to beat it out of you." Buffy advanced on him like a runner who had saved one last reserve of energy for the final stretch. Giles took two steps back for each one his slayer took forward. He was actually panting now, grunting under each impact of the blades, his sword blocking and parrying so quickly there was no time for offensive moves.

He took her swing across the length of his blade, the swords locked crossways once again, and he felt himself pressed backwards as before. This time, though, her leg swept outwards and knocked his own out from under him, landing him flat on his back. He felt the impact even through the protective padding, wheezing slightly as she landed across his chest and held the blade beneath his chin.

"You okay?"

He nodded, still out of breath.

"So who's this guy?"

He shook his head, still gasping to catch his breath.

She teasingly pushed the broadside of the blade tighter beneath his chin. She waggled her eyebrows and demanded in an accent so bad he couldn't place it, "Talk now, or heads vill roll." She trilled the l's, and he couldn't help but chuckle, which sent him coughing.

"Really, Buffy… I don't… know."

She set the sword aside and climbed off his chest, offering him a hand up. He bent over for a moment, head between knees, taking slow deep breaths until he no longer felt like he was going to pass out. He slipped off his facemask and undid the clasps of his vest. Buffy only watched him as he stripped off the layers of protective gear. She was wearing a tank top and spandex biking shorts. Her idea of gearing up for training was pretty much limited to changing into running shoes rather than whatever God-awful fashion trend she had currently strapped to her feet and then pulling her hair back into a ponytail.

"Your defensive skills are improving," he commented. "You averted my every attack. But offensively, you waste too much energy on the big moves. Your strokes were too wide; your thrusts had too much windup. Each flourish you add with your blade contributes nothing but alerting your opponent to your next move."

She frowned at him. "So remind me again: which one of us just got laid out on his ass?"

He peeled off his gloves and added them to the pile. "Something you should have accomplished at least twenty minutes ago."

"So I really can't win, can I?"

"Pardon me?"

She crossed her arms and glared at him. "If I let you win even for a little while, I get the 'you're not training hard enough' lecture. And if I take you down in five minutes, you get all sulky and act like it's time to start looking at nursing homes. Our last session, you used the words 'half century.'"

"I am very nearly that."

She threw her hands in the air and rolled her eyes. "You're 48."

Giles chuckled as he stretched out tired muscles. This seemed to bother her more than him. "Almost 49, which is just a short jump to the half century mark."

She crossed her arms again, defiantly. "See? I can't win. I let you stay ahead of me for a little while, and you're _still_ going to get all sulky. Pretty soon you'll start saying things like you're too old to be my Watcher and… and… I should have the Council send someone younger, like Wussy Wesley."

Ah, so that's what this was about. "Buffy, you're the Slayer, and I'm a mere mortal. You should be able to take me down in under five minutes, no matter what my age. Tell me, you used to spar with Riley, didn't you?"

"Yeah, yeah," she answered, plopping down on a nearby bench. "I know where you're going with this. He was my own age, and I could still beat him in record time if I wanted to. So am I supposed to bring up Riley every time you get depressed about your age?"

Giles frowned. "Maybe not." He joined her on the bench. "Look, Buffy, you have always been, _will_ always be, my better in strength and speed and stamina. That's the nature of the Slayer. There was a time when I might have kept up with you through superior skill and experience and training. But not anymore. And that doesn't depress me. It makes me proud. After all, I am the one who trained you. So you _should_ take me down. Again and again. Until you can do it in two minutes instead of five. Otherwise, there is no point to our training."

He reached out one hand and brushed his knuckles across her cheeks. "And I will always be your Watcher. There is no age limit to the position. In fact, there have been slayers with watchers in their seventies, even, so no matter how old and decrepit I get, I'll still be able to tell you when you're dropping your shoulder or leading with your left side or taking too wide of swings with your sword." He considered this for a moment. "Although in my seventies, perhaps we'll find someone else for you to actually spar with. I foresee that I would be living up to the title Watcher in a very literal sense."

Buffy laughed then, and pulled herself into his arms. She made a face. "You're all sweaty."

He patted her on the back. "You're no rose yourself at the moment."

She looked down at her damp shirt and quickly agreed. "Well, I definitely need a shower, and you definitely need a shower. It's only logical that we should save time and water by showering together."

Giles rose and drew her along with him. "I must be a better teacher than I realized. Not only has your skill with a sword improved in your years as my Slayer, but some of my intellect appears to have rubbed off as well."

They headed to the bathroom and shower at the back of the training room. As Buffy locked the door behind them, she asked one last time, "So you really don't know who Dawn's boyfriend is?"

* * *

The coroner watched them wheel the gurney in as he scrubbed and gloved up. The police were anxious to know if the cause of death was the same as the others. A uniformed officer was actually waiting for the autopsy report so he could hand deliver it back to homicide.

"Alright. Let's see what we've got."

The coroner drew the sheet back. A woman this time. The other three had been boys, no more than high schoolers. This one was a young undergrad. He shook his head. What a waste.

He took the scissors and careful cut off the expensive cashmere sweater. He sliced up both seams of her fashionably torn jeans. He peeled off each layer of clothing until the body was naked on his slab.

"See? Same symbol," the officer said as he pointed to the mark on her torso. The young rookie looked a little green already. He might need to wait in the hallway for the remainder of the procedure.

"Yeah, I see," the coroner replied. The same symbol burned into her skin like acid. Not on her chest, as it had been for the three high school boys, but completely covering her stomach. He traced his gloved hand across its pattern, checking the damage and trying to match it to anything he might have seen before. It reminded him of how cattle were branded. But, no, this was definitely the work of acid or some other corrosive substance. He scraped a small sample of her burned skin into a vial for lab testing.

What he couldn't figure out was how such a perfect symbol could have been so precisely burned into her skin by acid. It's not like the killer could have just painted it on with a brush. And pouring a corrosive liquid in such exact lines wouldn't have been an easy task.

He traced the pattern with his gloved fingers once more. A crescent moon curving from hip to hip and over her navel. A jagged lightning bolt beginning between her breasts, piercing the moon, running straight over her belly button, and coming to a point just above the curls of her pubic hair.

The coroner wondered what on earth the symbol could mean. He had seen some strange things during his time in Sunnydale, but this was a puzzle.

Two hours later, the rookie cop left the morgue, in possession of the autopsy report, but missing his breakfast. Cause of death: heart failure. Just as it had been with the others. No obvious reason for said heart failure. And just like the others, this woman had been too young and in too good of health for her heart to have just given out on its own. They would send various samples off for lab testing, but if this was a repeat of the other three, the labs wouldn't find anything more to add to the report.

* * *

Willow woke when she heard urgent knocking on her door. She shrugged into her robe and stumbled over to the apartment door. She hadn't been on Scooby duty since Tara's death, so she wasn't used to middle of the night emergencies anymore. Time was she would have been awake and alert in moments, prepared for battle or hitting the books. Now she peeked out the peephole with one bleary eye, recognizing the person in the hallway far later than she should have.

She undid the deadbolt and chain and opened the door, years of habit preventing her from actually inviting the woman in.

"Sabrina?"

The brunette witch stepped inside, passing the vampire test with flying colors. "I hate to bother you this late. Campus information gave me your address. Willow, we really need you right now." And then the brunette began to cry. She covered her face with her hands and leaned towards Willow until the sleepy witch instinctively wrapped comforting arms around the sobbing woman.

"What's wrong?"

Sabrina pulled back slightly, wiped away the tears with the back of her hand, and took a deep breath. "We told Morgaine not to do the spell by herself. We would have helped her with it tomorrow. But she was convinced that she was ready for it. I think she was trying to prove something to herself, and she cast it all alone. Now she's trapped inside herself, and no one can reach her. We've tried everything."

Sabrina leaned forward and grabbed Willow's shoulders like a drowning woman might grab a life preserver. "I know you said you wouldn't do magic, but just this once. _Please_. You and I together might be strong enough to reach Morgaine. And then you never have to do it again."

Willow considered for many more moments than it should have taken. Helping those in trouble used to be in her job description. Time was Giles or Xander would have had to rein her in before she charged headfirst into a situation she wasn't prepared for. Now the very thought of doing magic again made her hesitate. In the end, though, her sense of compassion and responsibility won out.

"Okay, just give me a moment to get dressed."

She changed into a simple cotton dress that was loose and comfortable, slipped on her shoes slowly, and then pulled her long red hair into a meticulous ponytail, spending two or three minutes making sure she caught every last strand. The entire time she got ready, her gaze was fixed on a framed photo on the nightstand beside her bed. She and Tara snuggled together on the front porch of Buffy's house, both dressed as Disney characters. It was the last picture she had, the last celebration they'd had together, before It happened. Alex had helped them pick out their costumes, deciding on Tinkerbell for Willow and the Little Mermaid for Tara and Robin Hood for himself. Willow smiled as she remembered Halloween, the last time the Scooby gang had been whole and happy: pumpkin carving, trick or treating with Alex, a haunted house in the backyard, Anya's happy announcement that she was pregnant, and Xander's Kodak worthy total shock.

Willow touched the image in the photo reverently before she returned to Sabrina in the living room.

Sabrina had calmed while waiting, seemingly more collected now that she knew Willow would help. She led them to her car and drove them to a building on the far side of campus, past the rows of fraternity and sorority houses. She pulled in front of a house so newly built that the construction vehicles were still parked on a half-finished driveway.

"Wow, it's a beautiful house," Willow commented as she stepped out of the car.

"Yeah," Sabrina agreed. "They were supposed to have it done before the semester started, but you know how that goes. We couldn't move in until almost the end of January."

They walked across the barren front lawn and over discarded shovels and picks. Sabrina opened the door and waited for her to enter.

The inside of the house was finished beautifully with large, spacious common rooms typical of a sorority house. Sabrina led them up a sprawling staircase and down a long hallway with dorm style bedrooms on either side. Willow could see their destination at a distance. It was the only room with a light on, and several people milled around outside in the hallway.

"This is Willow," Sabrina said as she led the witch past them and into the bedroom.

A young black woman sat inside a pentagram drawn on the floor. A few other women stood along the perimeter, their tears a silent testimony to their failure. Morgaine's head was bowed, a mass of cornrow braids flowing down her back and over her shoulders. When Willow bent down in front of her, she could see that the woman's dark eyes were still open, but blank and empty. It reminded her of when Buffy had gone comatose after Glory had taken Dawn. Maybe the same type of spell would reach her.

"I need five candles, one at each point of the pentagram. I need sulfur and ground frogstone and some lilac incense to cover up the smell." Willow's confident orders spurred the room to action. "I need the same kind of powder she used to draw the symbol. We'll need to open it up for me to get in, and then enough powder to close it behind me."

"You're going to get inside her mind? Draw her out?" Sabrina asked.

Willow nodded, her eyes still examining the scene in front of her, her encyclopedic mind pulling out dusty and long unused volumes on magic until she could remember the proper ceremony.

_The smell of lavender. The heat of fire._

No, no, no. She couldn't think about that right now.

"I'm going with you," Sabrina stated, and it took a moment for Willow to really hear her words. "I know Morgaine, and you don't. If we both go inside her mind, we have a better chance of bringing her out."

Willow didn't argue. She had the power to get them both in the door, but Sabrina would be the only one who could make sense of what they found on the other side.

Five candles burned, one at each point. The smell of lilac barely concealed the stench of sulfur and frogstone. Willow carefully opened the circle and stepped through. Sabrina joined her. The others closed the symbol behind them. Sabrina sat behind Morgaine, Willow sat in front.

_I don't know how much longer I can hold the shield. Please hurry. I've almost got him, Tara, just a minute more._

No, no, no. She shouldn't think about that right now.

Instead, Willow slipped her hands into Morgaine's own, the pale cream of one set of fingers contrasting with the rich chocolate of the other as their fingers laced together. Sabrina touched her friend on the brow, bringing the comatose woman's head back level. Willow shuddered at the vacant expression that met her and closed her eyes.

_Oh God, Willow, what are you doing? I just need a little more power. Just a minute more, I promise._

Willow shook her head and focused. They were still sitting in the pentagram, in front of and behind Morgaine. She thought for a moment that the spell hadn't worked, but then she saw the same woman standing in the doorway watching them.

"Morgaine?"

The spell had worked, and they were inside her mind. And this, the pentagram, the room, the house, all of this, existed as an internal representation of her thoughts. However real it seemed, it wasn't. Willow knew their bodies remained quiet and focused, still sitting in the pentagram in the real room of the real house.

Morgaine turned and walked away from them. They each stood and followed, leaving behind the unmoving form of Sabrina's friend. Morgaine strolled down the staircase. A pyre burned in the middle of the living room.

"Let me talk to her," Sabrina whispered and shadowed her friend down to the fire.

Willow watched as the two witches circled the bonfire. Morgaine shifted with each lap. She was in turns an African tribal medicine woman, a Jamaican voodoo queen, a colonial slave, a tacky television psychic, and lastly just Morgaine, herself. Sabrina shifted as she circled the pyre as well. She was ancient priestess, country wisewoman, Puritan witch, flower-power hippy, and then just herself. Centuries of witches, of magic, both feared and revered. Willow watched them dance around the fire as they spoke words she could not hear, and she wondered briefly whose pyre they danced before.

_Willow, help me! I'm losing the shield._

Willow tried to push away the memory, but the taste of magic was bringing it all back.

_They stood on opposite sides of the battlefield. It was the coming apocalypse. Wasn't it always? The minions circled the beast they had just raised. Giles and Xander brandished broadsword and mace, struggling valiantly to breach the ranks of lesser demons, so Buffy would have a window to reach the larger threat. Even Anya, newly pregnant, fought beside them, wielding a crossbow and felling demon after demon with flaming bolts._

_The heat of fire._

_The smell of lavender at her feet, and the heat of fire as Anya lit each bolt while standing beside her._

_They couldn't let this newly raised beast reach the surface. It had the power to eclipse the sun, to send the world into everlasting darkness, a happy prospect for those creatures of the night who had called it. A more dismal idea for those who enjoyed actually living._

_But the thing was huge. King Kong would have climbed into its arms and called it Mommy. There was no way Buffy could beat it. Even Giles knew that. Willow could see it in his expression as he watched his Slayer work her way through the minions guarding their prize. He knew with a sad certainty that this would be her last battle, and that the best he could hope for would be for the beast to die with her._

_Tara and Willow stood at opposite sides of the battlefield, maintaining the shield that held the monster in place. He roared and beat four arms like California redwoods against it. They felt each impact to their bones._

_And then Willow had the idea. The creature was called from fire. Ice could be its prison._

_"Hold the shield," she told her lover, her voice carried across the distance by magic. "Just for a moment. I think I can kill it."_

_And she let Tara bear the weight for her side of the spell._

_She called to the four winds. She called to Mother Nature._

_"I don't know how much longer I can hold the shield. Please hurry." Tara sounded strained. The spell was too much for her to hold alone against the beast's onslaught. But Willow only needed enough time to cast the spell, and they would win. What were a couple of nosebleeds and migraines compared to that?_

_"I've almost got him, Tara, just a minute more."_

_She could feel the coolness across her brow. She could feel the breeze swirl past her and circle the beast. It roared in anguish. She could see its hooves turn blue. It stamped its feet, but its movements were becoming stiff. Willow's spell was working. The beast was turning to ice._

_But her power was waning. She needed more than what she had if she were to seal the creature in a tomb of ice. She needed Tara._

_"Oh God, Willow, what are you doing?" Tara's voice shook as she was torn in two directions: holding the shield and joining her lover's spell._

_"I just need a little more power. Just a minute more, I promise."_

_The beast couldn't move below the waist. The beating of his arms against the magic forcefield slowed, and he looked like a swimmer in quicksand._

_She heard Tara scream._

_"Willow, help me! I'm losing the shield."_

_And then came the Choice. The Choice that would haunt her days and her nights for the rest of her life. She could drop the spell and fortify the shield. And then all would be lost. The beast would break free of the beginnings of his ice prison, leaving Buffy to shoulder the last hope of the human race. The Slayer would die saving them all, but there was a chance she could kill the thing and stop yet another apocalypse. Then again, they might all die, and the world with them. A never-ending eclipse. An everlasting night._

_Or Willow could finish the spell and finish off the beast right now._

_She chose. And for the rest of her life she would wonder if she had made the wrong choice._

_She drew what more she needed from Tara. She felt the shield waver as she did. Her hands rose. Her eyes darkened. Willow chanted in Greek. The cool breeze surrounding the beast hardened, and his movements stopped. He solidified in cool, translucent ice. The minions turned to his defense too late. And what could they do against her magic anyway?_

_She uttered the final words of the incantation, sealing him inside his arctic tomb._

_Giles and Xander and Buffy and Anya slaughtered the remaining minions._

_But Willow had felt Tara's magic break. And she was all the way on the other side of the battlefield._

_Willow frantically attempted to shore the forcefield, but there was nothing left. The spell had broken. So she stumbled down the steep rock bed and into the crevice. She ran across the battlefield, not even noticing how close she came to death. Anya's bolt brought down one demon before it reached her. Giles' sword halved another before it could touch her. Xander's mace knocked a third to its knees before it moved more than three steps in her direction. Oblivious to these close calls, she ran._

_She climbed the opposite rock bed, not caring that she cut and scraped herself in her haste. She reached the top and found her._

_Tara lay still across the stones._

_"NO!"_

_Willow knelt at her lover's side, her hands smoothing back the blonde hair. Tara was still alive and watching her._

_"Hold on, Tara. Giles will be here in a minute. He'll know what to do."_

_Tara smiled sadly and licked her lips. Blood flowed from her nose, from her mouth. What could Giles do? There was nothing physically wrong with Tara, nothing a doctor could fix. And Willow could see already that Giles would never make it here in time._

_"You did it."_

_Willow misread accusation in her lover's words. She had done this. She had killed with her magic, had killed the one person she loved more than anything. She began to weep, still smoothing back the blonde hair, and now leaning down to place kisses across forehead and cheeks. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Forgive me, Tara. I'm so sorry."_

_"Shh…" Tara soothed, lifting one shaking hand to touch the tears that Willow wept for her. "You did it. You got to save the world for once. I'm so proud of you." And then she wound one lock of fire-red hair around her finger and pulled her lover down for one last kiss._

_Willow tasted Tara's blood in her mouth, but she kissed her deeply and passionately, as if she could anchor her here in this moment by sheer will._

_They said it at the same time._

_"I love you."_

_And then Tara's eyes closed forever, and she died in Willow's arms._

_Giles did reach them moments later. And he was too late._

_And Willow vowed that she had cast her last spell. Her magic died with Tara._

She blinked away the memory, focusing instead on the flames in the living room. She had wondered whose pyre it was. It made no sense. This was Morgaine's dream, not hers. And yet, Willow knew the funeral pyre was Tara's. Killed by magic. And burned like a witch.

"Willow?"

She turned around. Sabrina and Morgaine were standing behind her, waiting patiently.

"We're ready for you to take us back now."

Willow faced the fire one last time. She half expected to see the First Slayer prowl around from its edges, her ghostly face peering through the flames.

_Death is your gift._

But no, that was Buffy's dream. If this was Willow's dream, if this was Tara's pyre, then the flames were always empty.

She spun quickly, resolved, and headed up the stairs with determination. She had cast her first spell. She had broken her vow. But it had saved Morgaine. And Tara would forgive her that.

They returned to their positions in the pentagram, and Morgaine stepped into her still body. A moment later, and they all three gasped in unison. Willow looked around. The others were watching and looked relieved as their friend came to herself. They opened the circle for Willow and Sabrina to step out. Morgaine followed, still a little stiff.

One teary friend batted her on the shoulder. "Girlfriend, you had us freaked! Next time you want to mess with the hard stuff, you let me get your back. You hear me?"

Morgaine nodded sheepishly. She turned to Willow. "I can't thank you enough. You saved my life. I am going to see you again, right? You're coming to our next meeting?"

Willow smiled, a little teary and emotional herself. On the one hand, she had just revisited a moment she tried to keep buried. On the other hand, her magic had just saved someone. Maybe spending time with these people was just the thing she needed. And Sabrina had told her she didn't have to do magic if she didn't want to.

"Sure," she answered. "Tell me when and where, and I'll be there."

The young black woman enfolded her in a warm embrace, and several others piled on as well.

"Willow Rosenberg," Sabrina said, "you are welcome here anytime you like. But I will give you the dates and times for our group meetings just the same."

"She needs the tour," someone insisted.

So they gave her the tour of the house. It looked like any other sorority house, if a bit newer. Poshly decorated for the rich college girls whose parents liked to buy them into a selective society. The tour ended in the living room as they escorted her out. Plush couches surrounded a 52-inch television screen. To one side, a fake fire blazed in the fake fireplace, and over the mantle hung the symbol of their sorority.

"That's weird," Willow said, pointing. "Never seen that before."

Sabrina shrugged. "We're not technically a sorority. I mean, we're not on the campus roster, so no Greek letters or anything. But we needed a symbol just the same. You like it? I picked it out. They're going to put a big one on the front of the house if they ever finish our driveway and parking lot."

Willow studied the symbol hanging above the fireplace. A crescent moon tipped on its side. A lightning bolt running through the center. It was a pretty symbol. It reminded her of old pagan rituals. It seemed to fit a coven of witches.

"Yeah, I like it," she answered, and then walked back to the car with Sabrina.

* * *

"Woo! And might I add a big honking Hoo!"

"Hey, Buff, whadya find?" Xander asked.

Buffy seemed rather pleased with herself. "I actually found something for once. Look at me: big research girl."

Giles grew impatient and grabbed for the book in her hands. "For Pete's sake! What is it?"

"Hey," she protested, holding the book out of his reach. "Can't I just gloat for a moment? For once _I'm_ the one who found something. It's always you or Willow or Anya or…" She trailed off and left out Tara's name. She shrugged her shoulders. "Even Dawn strikes gold sometimes. When Xander or I actually find something while researching, we should be allowed to gloat."

Giles sighed impatiently and held out his hand. "Are you quite through gloating yet? They found the fourth body with this mark yesterday. Perhaps you'd like to wait for body number five?"

She passed over the leather bound volume, suitably chastised. He adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose and examined the page she had opened it to. They had found the lithograph he remembered seeing earlier, but it hadn't provided any useful information. It had only been an illustration of a Dhanari demon raising a sword bearing that mark. He stood on a field of fallen knights, and a lightning bolt lit the blade with a blue fire, the only color in the illustration. They still didn't know the name of the sword or the mark or what it did. But they were able to expand their research to include Dhanari demons in the hope that the mark was related to them.

Buffy had found a similar illustration in the book he was now examining. Except that the scene portrayed a troll wielding the sword. And he stood at the altar of a church, the entire congregation lying dead at his feet before him. And just like in the other illustration, a bolt of lightning branded the blade with a blue flame.

Giles sighed and tossed the book to the table, removing his glasses and rubbing his weary eyes. They had been stuck on this puzzle for entirely too long. "I'm afraid this doesn't give us much more information than the first illustration we found. Again the sword bearing the mark, the dead on the ground, the lightning touching the sword."

Buffy sighed and sank back into her armchair. "Does that mean I didn't find anything? All that gloating for nothing?"

Giles smiled kindly. "Well, it is a troll in this lithograph. That means we can abandon our research into the Dhanari. They obviously do not have an exclusive tie to this sword or its mark."

Buffy brightened. "Yay me! Less research." Xander high-fived her across the coffee table.

Giles replaced his glasses. "Actually that means we should expand into other demons. The sword and the mark could originate with any of them."

Xander scowled. "_More_ research? Okay, Buffy, you are no longer my hero."

Anya passed over the book she was working on. "I'm hungry. Someone must go get me pizza and pickles."

Xander patted her stomach affectionately. "An, honey, there's pickles in the fridge, and we can order pizza."

She pouted. "Pregnant women are supposed to send their husbands to go get the food they're craving. It's no fair if you can just have it delivered. Buffy was always sending Giles to the store for ice cream."

Giles glanced over his book with a smirk. "Alex and Buffy keep the freezer well stocked with ice cream if you'd like some." Men had to stick together.

Anya scowled at her boss and then her husband. "Fine. Order me pizza. With olives and pickles and ham."

"Oh my!" Buffy added with a giggle. Anya didn't get the joke, but Buffy couldn't stop laughing.

Just then Alex wandered into the living room, dragging a rather beat up Mr. Gordo by one limb and rubbing at his sleepy eyes.

Buffy pulled the boy up onto her lap. "Hey, little Rabbit, what're you doing out of bed?" He leaned into her embrace and stuck one thumb into his mouth. "Did you have a bad dream?" He nodded, and she gave him a big hug. She tried to wiggle his thumb out of his mouth, but he only started sucking on the other one instead.

Dawn was coming down the stairs and sneaking past them towards the front door. Buffy stopped her. "Hey, Dawn, any idea where Alex gets this whole thumb-sucking from? I didn't suck on mine. You didn't suck on yours. You remember Mom talking about anyone in our family sucking on their thumb?"

Dawn shook her head impatiently. "Umm… Melinda's picking me up in a few minutes. I'll be home by eleven."

"Ten thirty," Giles corrected. "It's a school night."

Dawn rolled her eyes and sighed. "Ten thirty." And then she was out the door.

Buffy looked at Giles knowingly. "She's meeting up with this mysterious boyfriend. Whadya bet? Melinda's just covering for her. I know it." She passed Alex over to his father's lap. "I'm going to follow her and see who it is."

"Buffy, no." Giles stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. "She'll tell us when she's ready, maybe invite him over. No need to spy on the girl. We should be thankful she's not sneaking out the window anymore."

"Come on, Giles. You knew us in high school. Remember the round robin? You think our parents had any clue we were fighting the forces of darkness? You think my Mom had any idea about Angel?"

"And if your mother had followed you out one night, how would you have felt? Show Dawn a little trust, and she'll trust us." He adjusted his son in his lap, so he could continue reading. "Of course, that doesn't mean we can't check up on her alibi and ground her if she's lied."

Buffy laughed. "Poor Alex. You're not going to get away with anything, are you?" She tickled her son under the chin and again tried to wrest the thumb from its happy home. "Come on, Alex, you don't want to suck on that icky thing, do you? Really, I don't know where you get that nasty habit from. Mommy and Dawn never…" Buffy trailed off, her dawning realization and a smug smirk plastered across her face.

Giles turned the page as if he hadn't noticed. He focused intently on his research.

"Omigod! Giles, you sucked your thumb."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Ah-ha!" Buffy stood triumphantly. She pointed to his ears and neck. "See, you're turning red. And you didn't deny it; you only said something that could be interpreted as a denial. See, I know you too well." She laughed maniacally. "You totally sucked your thumb. For how long?"

"Buffy, please, we have work to do."

She crossed her arms. "I'm going to assume you were like nineteen or twenty unless you tell me different. And I just had this image of Ripper sitting on a motorcycle with his thumb in his mouth. Weird. Disturbing. But still way funny."

Giles sighed and tossed the book onto the table. "I was five. Father said I couldn't go to grammar school until I'd stopped. Grandmother put quinine on it, and all in all, it was one of the worst first days of school a child can have. Happy now?"

Buffy giggled and pointed at him. "You sucked your thumb 'til you were five."

Giles rolled his eyes and reached for another book. Buffy was likely to be amused by this new discovery for at least the next month. He would have to remind her of the childhood stories her father had told him. Maybe he would have to dig out that photograph from her fourth Christmas as blackmail. That would surely shut her up.

Alex studied his father with wide eyes. He offered out his other thumb. "Want my thumb, Daddy?"

Buffy actually fell to the floor in hysterics.

"No thank you, son," Giles answered patiently and kissed the boy on the top of his head.

"Color?" Alex asked.

"I suppose if you're not going back to sleep in the next little while." Giles set the boy on the ground in front of the coffee table. He pulled out a pad of paper and some crayons reserved for just that purpose. "Remember, Alex, just color on the paper. Daddy's books are _not_ coloring books."

Buffy settled down after a little while and returned to her research too. The pizza came, and Anya was happy. Alex wanted some too, but he didn't like olives or pickles or ham. Xander picked them all off for his namesake, and Buffy informed her son that his Uncle Xander must love him a lot to go through all that hassle, because she would have just made him eat it, olives and pickles and all.

"Ah-ha!" Buffy exclaimed sometime later. "This is an actual woo-hoo moment and cause for some serious gloating." She passed the book over to her husband. "Slayer: two. Watcher: zip. Remind me again what they pay you for?"

Giles took the book and studied it intently. At the same moment, Alex was clamoring to show him a drawing. "Just a minute, Alex. Daddy's looking at this."

Alex crawled beneath the book and onto his father's lap. He laid the crayon drawing on top of the pages his father was looking at so seriously. "See?"

Giles moved the drawing out of the way. "In a minute, Alex."

It appeared Buffy had hit the jackpot. The mark of Camela. The crescent moon and lightning bolt. Branded on her sword for her chosen champion, the sword of Camela had the power to infuse its bearer with stolen gifts. Her chosen champion, the Mortog beast, had lost his blessed blade three thousand years ago, and had been searching for it ever since. The book had a graphic illustration of the beast, with enormous bullhorns and an elephant's trunk and the body and claws of a bear. Or at least that's what it looked like in the illustration.

Giles flipped to the front cover. He had bought this volume at an estate sale just last month. No wonder he hadn't remembered seeing this passage. He hadn't read the book yet.

He turned back to the relevant page, reading more about Camela and her enchanted sword.

"Bad dog," Alex pronounced as he pointed to the illustration of the Mortog beast. If he didn't know what kind of animal something was, it generally fell under the heading of dog. As did most of the monsters he happened to catch glimpses of.

Giles had completely forgotten about his son on his lap. He closed the book quickly. They tried to shield him from these kinds of images if they could. "Yes, Alex, a bad dog. You let Mummy and Daddy worry about it. Why don't you color some more?"

But Alex was more interested in his father's book. He squirmed in his father's lap as he tried to wrestle the book from Giles' hands. The book fell open to the same page, and Alex pointed to the picture again more urgently.

"Bad dog!"

"Yes, you've already said that-"

"Bad dog," Alex insisted, not waiting for his father to finish. "Bad dog hurt Watchers."

Giles' breath caught. He could feel Buffy's eyes on him. They never spoke to Alex about Slayers and Watchers. He knew his mother was a cop and his father owned the magic shop. But he didn't know they were the Chosen Ones.

"What's a Watcher, Alex?" his father asked.

Alex shrugged. "Dunno."

Buffy came to kneel on the floor in front of him. "Was the bad dog in your dream, honey?"

He nodded.

"Did the bad dog hurt people?"

Alex nodded again. "Hurt Watchers."

Buffy met her husband's eyes, fear filling her blue depths. "Giles…" She sounded stricken.

He touched her tenderly across the side of her face. "We don't know that it means anything. Children have bad dreams. He might have overheard something or seen something."

She shook her head. "Or it could have something to do with the fact that his mother has prophetic dreams."

Giles closed the book and set it aside. He sat his son straight on his lap and looked into his eyes. "Alex, can you tell me about your dream?"

He shrugged, and his hands started to play nervously with his father's tie. "Bad dog came. Hurt Watchers. I ran and ran. Cold. Wet. Bad dog want me. Want Robin. But we hide."

His little chin started to quiver, and Giles pulled the boy into a tight embrace. "It's okay, Alex. Mummy and Daddy are here. It was only a dream. You're safe now." The child started to sniffle and latched onto one thumb to comfort himself.

Buffy leaned forward and kissed her son on the forehead. Then she asked softly, "Honey, who's Robin?"

Alex brightened slightly and wiggled out of his father's arms. He reached for his drawing and showed it to his parents. There was the typical drawing of their house: a solid square with a triangle on the top. Green squiggly lines for the grass. A big round yellow sun. And a whole mess of stick figures covered the rest of the paper. Alex pointed them each out to his parents.

"Auntie Wiwo." A girl with a triangle skirt and long red hair. "Uncie Xand and Auntie Aunie." Xander was driving a big red truck. That was always Alex's favorite part about visiting Xander at work. Anya he had drawn as a stick figure with a big round stomach.

"Hey," she protested. "Your son thinks I'm fat. Your son needs some serious art classes, because that doesn't look anything like me. None of his people look like real people. If their heads were really that proportionally big to their bodies, they wouldn't be able to stand up."

Giles stared at her until she stopped talking. "Not now, Anya." He turned back to his son. "It looks fine, Alex. Please continue."

"Auntie Tara." He pointed at a figure in the sky with wings. Giles held the boy just a little tighter, and the child pointed to another figure with fangs. "Uncie 'Pike."

Giles sighed. "He is _not_ your Uncle Spike."

Alex blinked up at his father. He pointed to the figure again and insisted, "Uncie 'Pike." Then he continued on with the others. "Auntie Dawnie. Grampa. Gramma Susie." Then he pointed to the four figures in the center of the picture. "Mommy." He had drawn Buffy with her blue officer's cap and a star for her badge. "Daddy." Giles had obscenely large glasses and was holding a big book. At least he knew what his son thought of him. Between the two of them, Alex had drawn two smaller figures: a boy and a girl. "Alex. Robin."

Buffy held her hand over her mouth. Her eyes were slowly filling with tears. Giles touched his son's drawing, his fingers tracing over the figure of the boy and then the girl. Very softly he asked, "Who is Robin?"

Alex looked up at his father as if the man were stupid. He pointed again to the picture. "Robin."

"It's a very nice drawing, son, but who is she?"

"My sis'er. She come live wif us."

Buffy fled from the living room in tears, and Giles could only watch her go, knowing that tonight she would likely cry herself to sleep in his arms. He leaned back into the couch and cradled his son close to his chest. They would have the talk again. Xander picked up a book and pretended to read. Anya didn't care about pretense; she openly watched father and son.

"Alex, do you remember when you wanted a sister for your birthday?"

The boy nodded.

Giles closed his eyes and lightly stroked his son's back. "I told you Mummy and Daddy couldn't have anymore children. No brothers. No sisters. You are our special little boy."

"Robin _real_, Daddy. We ran from bad dog."

"In your dream?"

Alex nodded.

Giles stood, still holding his boy in his arms. "Daddy will read some of his books, okay?" Alex nodded eagerly and settled his head on his father's shoulder. Giles carried him into the kitchen. "For tonight, I'll give you some of my special, magic no-dream potion. Would you like that?"

Alex smiled brightly and nodded once more.

Giles pulled an old prescription bottle from the top of one kitchen cabinet. He fiddled with the childproof cap for a moment, finally needing to set Alex on the counter before he could get it off. Damn silly to have a childproof cap on the thing. The bottle was completely harmless. It had been emptied of its original contents long ago, had probably contained one of Giles' numerous prescriptions for pain medication from one of his numerous injuries. Probably had been something he had never even used. The label now read simply: No-Dream Potion, printed by computer and taped over the original doctor's label. Alex didn't even read yet, but Willow had insisted.

Giles finally got the lid off, and poured a little of the potion into a spoon. Nothing more than water with a touch of blue food coloring, but Alex downed his dose greedily, convinced that it would keep away his dreams. And it usually did.

Giles sealed up the potion and returned it to its place. He collected his son and carried him off to bed. With any luck, Alex would be asleep shortly, and Giles could check on Buffy. It was never a good idea for the Slayer to head out on patrol while still so upset. And after his son and wife were taken care of, Giles himself had a whole lot of research to do.

* * *

Willow did go to the next meeting of Sabrina's group, her first meeting with her new friends after Morgaine's close call. She went to a second, third, and fourth meeting as well. She made fast friends with the other women and soon found herself spending more time at the group house than at her own apartment.

Willow still visited Buffy and Xander and the others, but it was like that old saying: you can't go home again. Sabrina and the others were home now, a home that didn't remind her of everything she was trying to forget.

And then there was the magic. She had a taste for it again. She had started small, pressured into assisting with little glamours or household tricks when someone needed a little help with their spellcasting. After the crisis with Morgaine, the others looked up to Willow like an expert, asking her advice and questioning her about the finer points of witchcraft. She had developed a taste for that too. Buffy and the others respected that their friend was a powerful witch, but they second-guessed her a lot, as if they didn't fully trust her. Even Giles treated her like she was still in high school. After her rash and unsuccessful attempt to seek vengeance on Glory for Tara's insanity, Giles had actually put the darker and more dangerous spellbooks under lock and key. She had more than exceeded his skills in the black arts, and yet he still behaved as if he were her mentor.

So it was more than a little nice to have a score of young undergrads look to her as _their_ mentor.

Somehow the occasional little magic grew into a whole lot more and a whole lot bigger. Until it was either Willow or Sabrina at the center of everything. Willow had forgotten the rush of magic, its power and the exhilaration that came with it. She hadn't realized how much she missed it. And Sabrina was right. The taste of magic brought her closer to the memory of Tara and the feeling of being near her.

More than that, Willow took pride in the fact that she was helping these young witches grow into their gifts, that she was helping them avoid the same mistakes she herself had made, and that she was no longer the student but was now the teacher.

It was Sabrina who had suggested the healing spell. It was what Willow had been trying to do with the my-will-be-done spell after Oz left: to heal her broken heart. A different spell with different results. Two of the strongest from their group helped Sabrina cast it. They made a circle of three around Willow, and this time there was no blindness, no unnatural nuptials, no demon hoards. They just gave Time a little push, like hitting the fast forward button, and Willow felt as if months of grief washed away. Time heals all things. But instead of months, it took minutes. And Willow felt a peace she hadn't felt since Tara's death. She still missed her. She still loved her. But the ache in her heart had eased enough for her to breathe, enough for her to live.

The healing spell snapped the last of her loyalties to the old group. They would have denied her this peace. They would have told her that she simply had to get through the pain over time, and that in the long run, she would be better for it. Giles would have scolded her for plunging so deeply into magic so soon after Tara's death. He would have frowned at her, and she would have felt like she was in high school again as he lectured her.

"Your energy is too unfocused right now. You're grieving. You shouldn't do spells alone."

He had told her something similar after Oz left, and he would say the same thing now.

Buffy would side with him. She always did. Xander would do something silly and try to get her to laugh, like they were both still six or something. Anya would make some blunt and tactless remark. It was almost like having Cordelia around sometimes. And Dawn would likely be the only one to come to Willow's defense, which would probably not work in her favor.

Willow still considered them all to be her friends, her close friends. They would always be that. But they were no longer family. Sabrina and the others were her family now.

* * *

"You have my cell number?" Giles patted down the pockets of his tux to make sure he was still carrying it.

"Yeah, yeah," Xander answered. "You wrote it on the white board on the fridge. You gave it to me on this little piece of paper along with the pediatrician's number, poison control, and Buffy's friend at dispatch. Would you like to tattoo it on my hand?"

Giles only glared and straightened his tie. Damn black tie affair. He frankly would rather stay at home with Alex than go to a charity dinner with Buffy's whole department. But the police were hosting the function, and she had insisted that her boss would give her dirty looks for the next month and stick her on assignment giving out traffic tickets if she didn't drag her husband along too. Giles actually preferred the idea of Buffy relegated to something nearly as safe as a desk job. But then she had informed him what his life would be like for the next month if that happened, and he had reluctantly agreed to attend.

Xander leaned back in the couch and propped up his feet on the coffee table. "You act like I've never babysat for you before."

"Actually, I recall quite vividly the last time you watched Alex for us. It involved fingerpaints and a garden hose and a week afterwards when we had to convince the boy that making handprints and footprints throughout the house in _real_ paint was a bad idea."

Xander waved off his concerns. "I repainted over his mess, didn't I? I even got it out of the carpet. Not my fault Dawn left her art stuff out where he could get into it."

"Yes, but you did teach him the joys of painting with one's body as the brush. He had paint in his hair for a month. _Green_ paint. _My_ son." Giles pointed one warning finger at his younger friend. "You'll have one of your own soon enough. And I have three years of paybacks to catch up on. Just remember that when you're figuring out how to entertain my son this evening."

"Hey!" Anya protested, as she entered the living room behind him, carrying a bowl of ice cream. She settled on the couch beside her husband and placed her feet on the table beside his, the bowl resting comfortably on her round stomach. "The baby is mine too. I don't see any reason I should be punished because Xander and Alex get into trouble when you're gone."

Giles scowled. "Then I suggest you keep them both in line." He heard footsteps on the stairs and glanced up, but it was only Dawn. She was rather dressed up for going to the movies with her friends. "Going out with your young man again?"

She rolled her eyes and stretched up on her toes to give him a kiss goodbye on the cheek. "Melinda and everyone else will be there too. Don't go all overprotective on me. I told you where I'm going and what time I'll be back, and I _swear_ I'll bring him over to see you guys soon." She smoothed the lines of his shirt and then his cummerbund and jacket. "I just really like this guy, and I don't want to ruin it, you know?"

He brushed the hair back from her shoulders. She had truly turned into a beautiful woman. "Are you afraid we'll scare him off?"

She shrugged. "Something like that."

He smiled. "I'll hold your sister off as long as I can, but she's terribly curious."

Dawn gave him an enthusiastic hug, and then smoothed the lines of his tux once more. "You look way good in a tux. You should send Alex to spend the night at Xander's, and you could get really lucky with my sister tonight."

Giles blushed and shoved her towards the door. "Go on your date already."

He could hear her giggling even as the door shut behind her.

He felt slender arms wrap around his waist. He hadn't noticed Buffy come down the stairs. "You do look pretty darn yummy in that get-up. Maybe we should skip the charity banquet."

He turned and wrapped her in his arms. "I wouldn't be averse to that suggestion."

"Hey!" Xander called from the living room. "Delicate pregnant woman in here. Don't start her puking with all that mushy stuff."

Anya looked up from her ice cream. "I think it's sweet. I hope you and I continue to have frequent sex after the baby comes."

Giles sighed and steered his wife around the corner and into the dining room, out of sight. He held her at arms length, really studying her for the first time since she came downstairs. She was stunning. Then again, she always was. She was dressed in a floor-length, strapless blue sequined gown. Simple, elegant. She wore blue evening gloves to the elbow to match and a simple sapphire pendant with matching earrings that he had gotten her for their first anniversary. She had her hair pinned up off her neck, a few stray tendrils curling around the sides of her face.

His fingers traced along the curve of one cheek reverently. "You are a vision." And then he leaned in and kissed her softly, his eyes closing for long moments. He was in no hurry to get to the banquet.

"Purse, Mommy." Alex stepped up beside them, his little hands offering up her evening bag helpfully. They pulled apart like guilty school children.

"Thank you, honey," Buffy said, taking the purse with one hand as she ruffled his hair with the other. "You'll be good for Uncle Xander and Aunt Anya, won't you?"

He nodded obediently. "Paint."

Giles shook one finger firmly. "No paint. No sledding down the stairs. No using Daddy's books for dominoes. You have real dominoes now. No sword fights with wooden spoons. And your bedtime is still nine o'clock, on the dot." Giles looked at Xander as he said the last.

They each knelt down to kiss their son goodbye, and he waved them off at the door, looking entirely too eager to see them gone. Giles wondered what kind of mischief his son had planned for his favorite uncle and dreaded what kind of state he would find the house in on his return.

The banquet was as dull as Giles had feared. Buffy was constantly pulled from one group to another for a steady flow of introductions. He settled himself beside the refreshment table with the other spouses. Unfortunately, Buffy was one of the few women on the force, so Giles found himself surrounded by officers' wives, the only husband in the group. Some of them had jobs, some of them were stay-at-home moms, but as soon as they found out that he had a three-year-old son, they all started talking about kids and offering him parenting advice. There was no tactful way to bow out of the conversation and no better place to go even if he did. So he simply played martyr.

When another woman joined their group, the wives all grew quiet. Someone offered her punch. The conversation turned to the children's little league games that would start up over the summer. They asked her if her sons would be playing this year.

One of the wives, Maria, leaned in close to Giles and whispered in his ear, "That's Julia. Her husband died on patrol last month. Messed up pretty bad, I guess, and they never got the guy who did it."

Giles took a swig of his punch, thankful that it was spiked. He had a sudden image of himself in Julia's place, as all the officers' wives consoled him on Buffy's death.

He felt a presence beside him and turned to see another man standing at his side.

"You smoke?" the man asked.

Giles shook his head.

"Good," he answered. "How 'bout a walk outside?"

Giles found himself steered out of the banquet hall.

"Thought you might need a rescue before they started swapping chili recipes. John Tims," the man introduced himself. "My wife is a detective in homicide."

"Rupert Giles. Just Giles is fine. My wife is new. Eighteen months."

John laughed. "New wife or new cop?"

Giles laughed in return. They had stopped at the edge of the banquet hall parking lot and were now staring across the street at the ocean. "New cop. Buffy and I have been married three years now."

John leaned back against a nearby SUV. "Buffy, huh?" He chuckled and shook his head. "Sorry. Name like that, I just get this image of the stereotypical twenty-something blonde clotheshorse who you might have swooped up right out of high school…" He trailed off, his expression growing more serious. "Hit the nail on the head there, didn't I? Sorry."

Giles shrugged and crossed his arms. The night was growing rather chilly for spring. "That's how most people see it, I suppose."

John studied the other man for a moment before nodding in understanding. "But that's not how it is." It wasn't a question, just an affirmation. "Want a beer? Better than the crap they're serving in there." The man didn't really wait for Giles' answer before opening the back door of the SUV he was leaning against and pulling two cans from a cooler in the backseat.

Giles accepted the offering and studied his new and unexpected acquaintance. John appeared to be of a similar age: late forties, possibly even early fifties. Dark, full hair, speckled with gray, a neat beard, and dark, intelligent eyes. He seemed trim and fit, perhaps slightly soft around the middle.

"So what do you do?" John asked him.

Giles opened his beer, holding it away from his body slightly as it foamed over. "I own the Magic Box. It's a store near the downtown."

"I've seen it. I've always wondered what kind of people shop there. I never imagined there'd be enough demand to keep a store like that up and running."

Giles shrugged and took a sip of his beer. "It's a niche market, but business is good."

John leaned back against the SUV once more. "I'm guessing from your accent: you're not from around here."

"England originally."

"I'm from Minnesota originally. Not as exotic, but still a whole lot different from here. Never thought I'd actually miss the snow, but I do sometimes."

Giles sighed. "I miss the rain sometimes."

They both slipped into a companionable silence as they finished their beers. John finally filled the silence as he pointed to four men near the door of the banquet hall and told Giles, "Those are the other husbands. You can always find them smoking just outside any police function. I thought about taking it up once, but hey, now we can rescue each other." He crushed his can and tossed it in the backseat. "See the guy on the far right? The redhead?"

Giles squinted and took off his glasses until he could see the man at this distance. "Yes."

"That's Toby. He's a pretty okay guy if you can get him away from the other three. They're a bad influence. I think they're all a little insecure when they come to these things, like they're lesser men just 'cause their wives are cops and they're not. They take it to the other extreme. Testosterone overdose. It's really pretty pathetic. I mean, hell, my April's the best damn cop they've got in homicide. Nearly twenty-five years. Not that I won't be happy when she retires, and I can stop worrying every time the phone rings or there's a knock at the door, but still… I'm really proud of her." John shrugged and leaned his head back to look up at the stars. "Maybe I'm just used to being the odd man out in a room full of women. Doesn't bother me anymore."

Giles slipped his glasses back on and leaned against the SUV as well. "You work with a lot of women?"

John turned his head to meet Giles' eyes with a small smirk. "I teach at a grade school. Second graders. Not as glamorous as tracking down killers, but I like the kids and I like what I do. I'm okay with letting my wife be the action hero. I even did the whole Mr. Mom thing when our kids were small."

Giles chuckled. "I'm actually doing that right now. Our son is three. He comes to the shop with me while Buffy's at work."

John shook his head. "Three? I can't imagine how you do it. A three-year-old at my age… gives me chest pains just thinking about it. Our eldest is having her first baby this fall. I'll be a first time granddad and that's just about my speed right now. Spoil 'em, and then ship 'em back home when you get tired." John grew quiet for a moment as he thought. "And teenagers in my sixties…"

"Yes, I've done the math," Giles groaned.

John patted him on the back. "You're a braver man than I, my friend. I think you deserve another beer." And John fished out two more from the cooler.

They stayed out in the parking lot talking for two hours or more while the banquet continued on inside without them. Giles worried that he should make an appearance for Buffy's sake, but John assured him that showing up was enough and that Buffy would be too busy to pay him any attention anyway. By the time the guests started to wander back to their cars, John and Giles had gone from acquaintances to good friends. They had talked about their wives and their kids and the mistakes of their youth, serious subjects and small talk both. They had discussed books they had enjoyed and music that had influenced them. They shared what it was like to fear for their wives' safety on a daily basis, close calls they'd each had, and fights about dangerous assignments. John even cried as he told his new friend about the two partners April had worked with before, who had each died in the line of duty.

By the time Buffy came looking for her husband, John and Giles were sitting in the back hatch of John's Explorer, their legs dangling over the edge, laughing like two little boys as John recounted the story of their family vacation to Vegas, including flat tires and carsick kids and suitcases flying off the station wagon's luggage rack and April's failed attempt to use her badge to weasel them out of a ticket. It was after eleven, and they had been talking for close to five hours.

"Don't you know better than to climb into cars with strange men?" Buffy scolded him.

Giles reached for her, and she slipped her gloved hand into his. He pulled her into a warm embrace. "Buffy, this is John. John, this is my wife Buffy."

They shook hands, and John whistled appreciatively. "God, Giles, you failed to mention that your wife is drop-dead gorgeous."

Buffy blushed, and Giles smiled. It was so hard to get a blush out of her, but she was so cute when she did. He would have to have John over to see if he had a talent for making Buffy blush.

"Thank you," Buffy replied demurely. "I'm still new, floating around departments and stuff, so I'm sorry, but I don't remember where you work."

John smiled. "Ah, yes, your husband has yet to learn that introductions must be accompanied by ranks and departments. My wife is actually the cop. April Tims."

Buffy nodded. "Homicide detective. I've met her. She was very helpful. I'm thinking about joining up with homicide when I get the chance."

Giles deflated somewhat, and John noticed this. "Yes, well that's a conversation you'll want to have with your husband when I'm not around. If you'll excuse me, I've got to find my wife before she gets talked into going out with her partner and his friends."

John and Giles exchanged phone numbers before parting. Giles hadn't realized how much he missed friends his own age since coming to Sunnydale, most especially since Jenny had died. Hell, he'd even ended up out drinking with Ethan. That should have been a sure signal. And in John, he felt a kindred connection. John knew what it was like to send the woman he loved out day after day and not know if she would come home. Giles wouldn't be able to tell the other man about the slaying and the demons and the magic, but with a little careful editing, he would have someone to talk to about the things that really mattered.

Buffy and Giles strolled back to their car, arm in arm. Giles couldn't stop grinning, and she gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Aww, you made a friend. Good for you. Let's have him over for dinner sometime. April, too."

They stopped beside the BMW. They hadn't sold it after all, had simply gotten a practical car to replace the Jeep instead.

"You okay to drive?" Buffy asked him.

He smiled softly at her concern. "I haven't had anything since seven or so. I know you've been the social butterfly this evening and have probably lost all sense of time, but it's now quarter past eleven. I'll be fine."

She frowned. "Sorry. I didn't mean to ditch you all night, but my Academy instructor was here, and he was introducing me all around, and he can really help me get a good position. I checked up on you once, but you looked like you were having fun with that other guy, so I didn't want to bother you."

Giles brushed his knuckles across her cheek fondly. "I'm not complaining, Buffy, just teasing. I actually enjoyed this evening more than I thought I would."

"Good." She removed her sapphire pendant and earrings and handed them over to him. "I don't want to lose them. Hold onto them for me. I'll meet you back at home in a few hours."

Giles frowned. "You have weapons enough for patrol?"

She turned her head and pointed to the two decorative wooden stakes holding her hair in its elaborate arrangement. She lifted the slit of her skirt higher to reveal the stakes stored in a garter belt around her thigh. She tugged at the hem of each glove and showed him the thin stakes she had secreted away beneath the blue satin. Lastly, she hiked up her cleavage, and he saw the bottle of holy water she had slipped between her breasts.

"Buffy!" he exclaimed, glancing around to see if anyone else had witnessed her near striptease.

She pulled him down into a kiss. "I'm the Slayer, and someone really wonderful trained me to never leave the house unprepared. So I'm going to do a quick round of all the graveyards. Vampires can't resist the helpless maiden routine, and this dress is great for that. I'll be home in a couple hours. Sooner hopefully."

She ran the soft satin of her gloves across his face, and then down the buttons of his shirt. Her arms slid beneath his jacket and around his back. "You know why I like tuxes with tails?" He shook his head, and her hands slid further down his back until she had grabbed his butt and pressed him tightly against her. "No one notices a little hanky panky."

"Buffy!" he protested, although not very vehemently.

She kissed up his neck and then whispered in his ear. "Leave the tux on, and when I get home, you can disarm me." She pulled away from him and winked seductively. "I never showed you where I hid the throwing stars. Or the cross." She licked her lips and smiled before turning and running out of the parking lot.

Giles sighed. Two or three hours seemed like a very long time.

* * *

Alex came running down the stairs when he heard the doorbell. Aunt Anya was asleep in Dawnie's bed, and Uncle Xander was still struggling to get himself untied. Daddy had been trying to teach Alex how to tie his own shoes, and he had mastered the art of the knot. Uncle Xander hadn't seemed to know that when they started playing Cowboys and Indians.

Alex opened the door and looked up at a strange man dressed all in black. Not Dawnie. Not Mommy or Daddy either.

"Hello," the man said. "You must be Alex."

He nodded.

The man smiled. "You look just like your father. Can I come in?"

Alex nodded and stepped aside.

The man didn't move, but he knelt down in the doorway, eye-level with the boy. "I'm pretty sure I need more of an invitation than that. Your father has a tendency to de-invite me after every visit." The man stretched out one hand and met with invisible resistance. He looked like a mime as his hand pressed against the invisible wall in the doorway. "I just need you to say the words, Alex. Say: 'Come in.'"

"No. Daddy says no." His father was always very strict about that. Bad men could come in if you said they could.

The man didn't seem upset. He just laughed. "Your father has you well-trained. I should have expected that. Is he home?"

Alex shook his head.

"Your mother?"

Again, the head shake no.

"Dawn?"

Another negative. "Uncie Xand," he informed the man.

"Can you get him for me? He'll invite me in."

Alex frowned and chewed on his lip. He looked up towards the staircase. He had mastered the art of tying knots, but not the art of untying them. And Uncle Xander had said not to wake Anya. "No," he finally answered.

The man sighed and bowed his head. "You didn't like me when you were a baby, and you still don't like me, do you?"

Alex smiled and held out three fingers. "I'm free," he told the man proudly.

"And I'm frustrated. You're as stubborn as your father." The man took something from the inside pocket of his long dark coat: a picture. He flipped it over and wrote on the back in ink. "Will you give this to your father when he gets home?" He passed the picture through the doorway as far as his hand could reach. "Tell him Angel was here."

Alex took the picture and smiled as he looked at it. "Bye-bye, Angel," he said.

Angel stood, and looked down at Alex with a sad expression. "You're not anything like Buffy, are you? For some reason, I thought you would be. His eyes. His face. Buffy told me, but I guess it's different seeing you in person." He sighed and studied the boy for a moment more. "You're a lucky little boy, you know that, Alex? You have a lot of people in your life who love you."

Alex blinked up at him solemnly for several moments before he informed the man, "Dawnie has boy'fend."

Angel laughed. "Okay, so you're a gossip like your mother. And on that note, I think I'll just go. Goodbye, Alex. It was nice to finally see you. Maybe next time you'll actually invite me in."

"Bye-bye, Angel." And Alex waved at the man as he turned and walked into the night, his long dark coat billowing behind him. Alex shut the door and took the picture up to his room, so he would remember to give it to Daddy.

Uncle Xander had two loops of the rope off, and was nearly free. Alex tried to untie the last loop.

"No, no, Alex," Xander said. "Don't help me. I've almost got it."

Too late. "Oops," Alex said. He'd only made it worse.

Xander sighed and glanced over at the clock. "Ten-thirty. I'm beginning to suspect that this was an elaborate plot to stay up past your bedtime. Admit it, kiddo, you're a criminal mastermind."

Alex giggled.

"Your dad is so gonna kill me if you're still up when they get home."

* * *

Buffy strolled through the last graveyard, her hair now blowing free around her bare shoulders. She had used the stakes from her hairdo sometime before. Four vampires so far, and she was nearly ready to call it a night. But her dress was like a regular homing beacon, and she thought she would give this last graveyard a try before heading home.

"Oh dear me, where did my date go?" She called out her question in an almost singsong fashion. "I thought he went this way. I hope I'm not lost. This graveyard is so big and so scary at night. And I'm so defenseless." She wrapped her arms around herself in an attempt to look timid. But really she was cold. She should have asked for Giles' jacket before she went on patrol.

"I hope nothing mean and nasty attacks me while I'm all alone here. I couldn't even run very far in these really high heels."

She sighed and continued on to the mausoleums at the back of the graveyard. No one seemed to be taking the bait. Maybe she should run like something was chasing her. Vampires could never resist a little trip-and-fall.

She spotted movement up ahead. Her "spider-sense" was tingling. Definite vampire. She approached quietly, ducking behind trees and tombstones to catch the creature unawares. That's when she saw Dawn. And Dawn was up against a tree, sucking face with some guy.

_Don't think about that now,_ Buffy thought. _There's a vampire around here, and Dawn could be in trouble._

She crept up closer. She would get a good look at this mysterious boyfriend while she was here. All in the line of duty, after all. She wasn't being nosy or intrusive or snoopy. She had to get this close if she was going to protect Dawn from the nearby vampire. And if she happened to find out Dawn's big secret at the same time, well that was just a bonus.

The couple pulled apart for air finally, and Buffy jumped up from her hiding place, screaming.

"Omigod! Spike! You and Spike! Ughh! Double ughh! And ack! And omigod! You and Spike!"

Dawn and Spike looked in her direction. Dawn seemed panicked and closed the distance between them.

"Buffy, calm down. Please calm down."

"Calm down? I'll show you calm down." Buffy pointed firmly towards the graveyard exit. "Get your ass home right now, and maybe I'll calm down enough to let you out of the house ever again before you go to college."

"Buffy, please…"

The Slayer waved her hands in the air. She wasn't hearing any of it. "You are so grounded, your kids won't be able to leave the house. And you." She advanced on Spike. "You are dust." She slipped a wooden stake from inside one blue evening glove and raised it menacingly. He backed up until he hit the tree, his hands outstretched defensively.

Dawn grabbed her sister by the arm and tried to halt her progress, but trying to stop an angry Slayer was like trying to stop an elephant by grabbing its tail. "No, Buffy, you can't slay him."

"Give me one good reason why not."

"Because I love him."

Buffy stopped and looked at her sister. "Okay, I covered the ughh, right? And the ack? And the omigod? Can I add a what-the-hell-are-you-thinking?"

"I always had a crush on him. You knew that. But I was a kid, and we were just friends. And then I grew up, and we were still friends and then-"

Buffy held up one hand. "I don't want to hear anymore. You're going home, and I'm having a talk with Spike."

Dawn crossed her arms defiantly. "If you stake him, I'll never forgive you as long as I live." And then she marched across the graveyard towards home.

Buffy turned to Spike, but he got in the first words. "Be pissed at me all you like, Slayer, but you can't let her walk home alone."

She glanced back towards her sister. Damn. She hated it when Spike was right. "Fine. The talk was going to be short anyways. Let me give it to you in five words or less." She held up her fist and uncurled a finger on each word. "Stay. Away. From. Dawn." She paused for a brief moment. She still had one finger left. She uncurled her pinky with a sneer. "Pillock." And Giles thought she never paid attention.

Buffy turned on her heel and dashed across the cemetery to catch up with Dawn.

As soon as she'd reached her, Dawn turned and started desperately, "Please, just let me explain-"

Buffy shook her head. "More walking, less talking. I don't think you want to explain anything to me right now. I don't think you want to explain it today or this week or maybe even this month. If you know what's good for you, you'll go quietly to your room and start figuring out which colleges have online classes, 'cause you're not leaving your room ever again."

"I love him."

Buffy shuddered. "If you think I'm pissed, wait 'til you see Giles when he finds out."

Dawn didn't say another word the rest of the way home.

* * *

Giles unlocked the front door. He braced himself before he walked inside.

Everything seemed to be in order: nothing broken, nothing spilled, no overturned furniture arranged in an elaborate fort, no mounds of flour and sugar "sand-castles" on the kitchen floor. The house looked just as he had left it, in fact.

"Xander? Anya?"

Alex came barreling down the stairs. "Daddy! Daddy!"

Giles lifted him up and sighed. The living room clock said eleven thirty. A broken bedtime, maybe not the worst thing that could have happened.

Alex bounced in his father's arms. "Play cowboy an' injuns. Yee-haw."

Giles smiled in spite of his irritation. "Your mother tells me they're called Native Americans now. You'll have to change your vocabulary if you want to be politically correct."

Alex frowned at him. "Yee-haw," he said again.

"It would appear Uncle Xander has taught you a new word."

"Yee-haw."

"Yes, you've said that."

Xander came down the stairs a moment later, looking rather sheepish. "I know he's supposed to be in bed, but we were kinda busy and lost track of time."

Alex kissed his father on the cheek with a loud smack. "Knots bad. All tied up."

Giles gave Xander a concerned stare. "You tied up my son?"

Xander chuckled nervously. "More like he tied me up. I didn't know he knew how." He rubbed his hands together. "But no harm done. We'll just be going now."

Anya was coming down the stairs, wiping sleep from her eyes. "He wants to go before you find the broken ceiling fan."

"Anya!"

"Broken fan?" Giles asked, quite alarmed.

Xander steered his wife towards the door, explaining as they left. "Alex piled stuff on your bed until he could reach. He thought he could ride the ceiling fan in circles if he held on, but the blade broke. I would have stopped him, but hello, tied up."

"Yee-haw," Alex added to the story.

"Where were you?" Giles asked Anya.

"Napping. I was tired."

Giles stood on the porch, watching them leave. He called out to them as they got in their car, "Just wait. Uncle Giles is going to find lots of fun games to teach your offspring."

Giles sighed and closed the front door.

"Yee-haw," his son said brightly.

"And so many irritating words for the child to learn," Giles added under his breath. He carried the boy upstairs. It was far, far past his bedtime. "Come on, time to sleep. I think you've had enough games and stories for today. How about straight to bed?"

He set the boy on his bed. He immediately started jumping.

"Alex, no."

The boy continued to bounce on the mattress like a trampoline. "Yee-haw," he cried gleefully.

"William Alexander, stop that right now!"

The boy quickly stopped and lay back against his pillows. Giles pulled out pajamas from a middle drawer. That's when he noticed the picture sitting on the dresser top, a picture of Buffy as a little girl, maybe three or four. He didn't recognize this one specifically, but there were so many of them. Alex must have gotten into the family albums.

Giles carried the photo over to his son. "Where did you get this, Alex?" The boy was silent for a moment, and Giles asked again. "I won't be mad at you. I just want to put it back." He also wanted to check that the rest of the album wasn't in shambles.

"Angel came."

Giles frowned for a moment, not understanding. Then his breath caught as he looked at the photo once again. The camera had imprinted the date when the picture was taken. '3-22-05.' Just this past week. His fingers shook as they touched the image softly. A little girl on a swing. She had Buffy's blue eyes, and her blonde hair, the same color she'd had as a girl before it had darkened and she had resorted to bottle blonde. The resemblance was so striking he had mistaken it for Buffy's childhood photo.

He flipped the picture over. Angel had written on the back.

_Come to LA. I've found your daughter. Be discreet. There are Watchers everywhere.  
I kept my word. This makes us even. For Jenny. For Crawford Street. I've done everything I can do to make it right again._

_Angel_

Giles fought against the tightening of his stomach, the clenching of his jaw. He had promised that Angel would have his clean slate, and he would.

Giles turned the photo over again and studied the image of his daughter. "Tanya Dawn." He hadn't spoken the name in three years, and it caught in his throat.

Alex leaned over his shoulder, staring at the picture too. "Uh-uh," he told his father emphatically, pointing at the little girl. "Robin."

Next: Part 3: Another Man's Child


	3. Another Man’s Child

ORIGINALLY POSTED: September 10, 2001  
TITLE: The Family Business  
AUTHOR: JK Philips  
RATING: PG (some swearing)  
SUMMARY: After the events of The Ticking Clock, Buffy and Giles are still looking for their  
daughter. Can they save her from a terrible fate?  
SPOILERS: Everything up to "The Gift"  
DISCLAIMER: I do not own these characters; they are the property of Joss Whedon,  
Mutant Enemy & Fox. I simply am doing this for fun, and non-profit use.

* * *

Part 3: Another Man's Child

Giles sat on the living room couch, staring at the photograph of his daughter. Alex had settled to sleep shortly after being put to bed, and neither Buffy nor Dawn was home yet. He was alone in a quiet house, fighting an internal war with himself.

Should he tell his wife and her sister what Angel had brought? Buffy would hate him if he kept this from her. But how much more would he hate himself if he let her get her hopes up over another dead end? Tomorrow was Saturday. Buffy would be on duty for once, seeing as the more senior officers had taken the day off after the banquet. And Dawn would be at voice lessons, followed by rehearsals. He could let Anya watch the store for the day, and he and Alex could be in LA by mid-morning. And then if there were anything to this new development, he would tell Buffy.

He studied the photo in his hands. He had it memorized, and yet there was something reassuring about holding it between his fingers. It was the first real evidence he had that she existed, that he had not merely dreamed the baby girl or imagined the feel of her in his hands as he breathed life into her tiny lungs. There were days when he wondered. They never spoke of it, he and Buffy, except in those post-battle moments when she would make him renew his promise to find their child. Beyond that, they never spoke her name. Buffy left it to him to talk to Angel, to consult the other detectives, to make occasional phone calls to the Council. She even left it to him to pore through the information she brought home from the precinct. Giles didn't complain. It was his burden to bear. It was his fault their daughter was missing.

So no one spoke of her. The twins' nursery soon became only Alex's, until Giles couldn't remember what it had looked like with two cribs. Buffy would cry at the slightest reminder, and so he tried not to remind her. It was almost as if their girl had been stillborn. The conspiracy of silence had closed in around him until he wondered if his daughter were only a figment of his imagination, a fervent wish, and a desperate longing. But he was holding something of her now. He had her picture. She was real.

The door slammed loudly. He slipped the photo into the pocket of his dress shirt quickly and pressed it close to his heart with the palm of his hand. Buffy and Dawn were home. And they were screaming at each other.

"You won't even listen! You don't understand!"

"Don't understand? Hello? Three years of Angel. At least he had a soul."

"Girls, please." Giles stepped between him. They didn't seem to have noticed his presence until that moment. "What is going on here?"

Buffy crossed her arms and glared daggers at her sister. "You want to tell him or should I?"

Dawn crossed her arms in a matching stance. "Why should I care? You're both just going to gang up on me anyway."

Giles flinched from the venom in her statement. What had he done to deserve that? "Would someone just tell me before I have to lock you both in separate rooms?"

A long staring contest ensued between sisters before Buffy finally turned to him, her cheeks still flaming with anger. "Mystery boyfriend? Spike!" She shouted it a bit louder. "Spike! Did you hear me? Dawn is dating _Spike_!"

Giles cringed at the volume and covered his ears slightly. "I'm not deaf, Buffy, although I soon will be if you keep that up."

She grabbed the lapels of his jacket, shaking him slightly. "Why aren't you freaking out? Dawn is dating Spike!"

"Buffy, calm down." He disentangled her fingers from his tux. "I think we should all take some time to think and to cool off. A little sleep wouldn't go amiss either. We'll all discuss this tomorrow, like two reasonable adults and one completely insane teenager." He ripped off his glasses and spun to face Dawn, the reality of the situation finally hitting home. "_Spike_? Have you lost all common sense? _Spike_? I would have never expected such complete and utter lack of judgment from you."

Dawn stamped her foot and ran her fingers through her hair. "Would you both just stop it? You don't know him at all!"

"I know what he is capable of. I have a library of Watchers' Journals that chronicle over a hundred years of murder and rape and plunder and violence. Dear God, Dawn, he got his name from driving railroad spikes through innocent _people_."

"He doesn't do that anymore," she protested.

"Ah, yes, water under the bridge then," Giles replied sarcastically, donning his glasses again in one fluid movement. "I think you'd best get to your room, young lady, before I say something I'll regret later." She turned and huffed up the stairs. He called out after her: "We'll both be in periodically to check on you tonight. Sneaking out the window would _not_ be a wise choice."

The door upstairs slammed shut, and the one behind them opened. They both jumped. Buffy rammed their new visitor into the wall.

"Giles," she said through clenched teeth. "Where did you put that de-invitation spell again? 'Cause I got one vamp I'd like permanently off our guest list."

"Hey, hey," Spike said, grimacing from the Slayer's force. He held out his hands in surrender. "Come on then, truce, white flag, and all that."

Buffy released him and stalked to the other side of the foyer. "God, Spike, I let you in my _home_. I had this weird idea that we were actually _friends_. All those times I trusted you with my sister... That was what? A first date?"

Spike's lip curled in a sneer. "And all those times I helped you? Glory. Patrolling for a knocked up Slayer. Chrissake, I staked Dru, my _Sire_, to save your sorry ass. There ain't a demon in a hundred miles wouldn't pay good money to see me dead. Doesn't any of that count for anything with you, Slayer?"

Buffy's jaw twitched, and Giles felt no compulsion to rein in his slayer's anger. "So when you couldn't get me in the sack," she said, "you thought you'd give my sister a try?"

Spike sprang forward the three feet between them and decked Buffy straight across the jaw. They both bent over, clutching their heads in pain. Giles stepped in, snatching the back of Spike's jacket mid-stride as he forced the vampire out the door and flung him in the grass.

Spike rolled and came up sitting. He stared back at Buffy. "We've _never_. Niblet's not like that. She's a real lady. Maybe you should both give her a chance to get two words in 'fore you go damning her for something you don't understand."

Buffy was rubbing her jaw with one hand, the other leaning against the doorjamb. "I'm not going to watch my sister make the same mistakes I made. I'm not going to watch her get her heart broke by the likes of you."

She turned her back on him and marched up the stairs.

Leaving Giles standing in the doorway, looking down on Spike. Cool, collected, with the steely gaze of Ripper. "I expect that will be the last time you see the inside of our house."

He closed the door, knowing that would unfortunately not be the last they saw of Spike.

* * *

The Hyperion. Giles hadn't seen it in just over three years. It hadn't changed much. It gave the illusion that he was stepping back in time, walking in after that fateful trip to India, stepping through the doors in search of his daughter, and this time things would turn out differently. The same elegant décor, the same wide-open spaces. He could almost believe that he would get the last three years back. He glanced down at his son at his side, the child's small hand curled tightly around his own. No, no one could give him back the last three years. With any luck, Angel could give him the next three years, and every year after.

"Hello?" he called.

Cordelia Chase came out of a back room. And she had changed. In the same ways that Buffy had changed, but Giles hadn't witnessed the daily metamorphosis. So he recognized three years of transformation immediately. Time had matured her into a lovely young woman in her prime. No longer the shallow, high school cheerleader he had first known, her eyes held the depth and experience that came from being an instrument of the Powers That Be. Wesley Wyndham-Pryce was a lucky man.

"Giles!" she exclaimed, quite surprised.

"Hello, Cordelia," he answered warmly.

"And you brought Alex."

"Yes. Alex, this is-"

Introductions were swiftly interrupted as Cordelia pushed them both towards the exit. "Did you see the new Starbucks they put up on the corner? Let me buy you both some coffee. Unless kids don't drink coffee. Do kids drink coffee? Is there anyone in LA who doesn't drink coffee? Well I drink lattes, but that's pretty much the same thing, only trendier."

Giles halted her progress. "I think you've had enough. Is Angel in?"

Her eyes grew somewhat panicked. "I think you both should go somewhere that's away."

Wesley emerged into the lobby from another back office, and Cordelia turned around to look at him. "Oops," she said.

At his side was Quentin Travers, who had now spotted both Giles and Alex.

"Rupert, I must say this is a surprise." Travers strolled over to meet them. "But it does save me the bother of a trip to Sunnydale."

Giles' hand tightened over his son's. They had thus far managed to keep the Watcher's Council out of Alex's life. Every father thought his child the smartest, the fastest, the best, but Rupert Giles could be objective. And Alex was exceedingly bright for a three-year-old. He knew not only his alphabet, but the Greek and Sumerian alphabets as well. He would likely be reading before kindergarten. The child had an excellent memory, an inquisitive nature, natural coordination, and a fearless disposition. With his lengthy lineage of watchers on his father's side, and a slayer for a mother, Alex was everything the Watcher's Council could want and more. And that wasn't just a father's pride.

"Well hello, Alex," Quentin Travers said, squatting down to bring himself eye-level with the boy. Travers lowered himself for no one. He must have a keen interest in the child indeed. "I'm a friend of your father. My name is Quentin Travers."

Giles moved himself slightly in front of his son. Travers noticed this. The two men carried on a silent conversation with their eyes. Giles would not budge on this matter. Alex would have the choice his father never had.

The boy frowned up at the older man. "Don't go."

Travers looked confused.

Alex elaborated. "Don't go water."

The older watcher gave Giles a baffled expression, but he only shook his head. "I don't know what he's talking about." And then he lifted his son into his arms. Enough of Travers examining the boy as if he were a microscope specimen.

Travers stood and brushed off his trousers. "Rupert, perhaps we can speak alone. I'm sure Wesley will allow us the use of his office."

Wesley only nodded.

Giles hesitated, unsure who to hand his son over to: the Seer or the ex-Watcher. His choice was quickly made for him.

"Angel!" Alex cried as he spied the vampire walking down the staircase on their side. The only one in the room that the boy recognized, and the only one Giles would rather not leave him with.

"Will you be alright with Angel for a few minutes while I talk with Mr. Travers?"

Alex nodded, and Angel approached them. Now or never. The Vampire with a Soul had earned his clean slate, and Giles would have to keep his word. He passed his son over to the hands that had snapped his bones, looked up into the eyes that had watched his suffering. He swallowed hard. There were no words.

He followed Travers into Wesley's office. There was a file already sitting on the wood desk in anticipation of Giles' arrival. Except that he hadn't been expected.

"Please, Rupert, have a seat. Would you like something to drink?"

"Just get on with whatever it is you have to tell me."

Travers shrugged. "As you wish." He crossed to the other side of the desk, near the window, and opened the folder, sliding it across to Giles. Another photo of his daughter, taken outside a daycare center, a photo of her in the parking lot of a local grocery story, hand-in-hand with a young woman, and a photo of her through a second-story window, as the telephoto lens showed a clear view of a bedtime story. She looked like Buffy as a child. There was no doubt who her mother was.

"Robin Deanna McGregor," Travers said softly.

So that was his daughter's name. Alex was right. Robin. That had other implications for the boy, but Giles would think about that later. Right now, his fingers stroked the images tenderly. Blonde curls and blue eyes and round cheeks. The photo of her in bed was the clearest; he could see her face: Buffy's eyes and the shape of her face and the curve of her smile. But there was something of Giles in the girl too. She had long fingers like he did, and his chin, and a touch of his pensive expression as she studied the book the woman read to her.

Travers closed the folder, seeking to bring Giles' attention back to himself. "You are aware, of course, that one of the duties of the Council is to seek out potential slayers and keep tabs on them?"

Giles turned slightly and sat on the desk sideways. He knew where this conversation was leading him, and he was in no hurry to get there. "Keep tabs yes, but preferably take into custody at a young age so they can be properly schooled and educated should they one day become the active slayer."

The older man nodded, not ashamed of the things the Council did to protect the world and all who lived in it. "In this modern age, it is becoming increasingly difficult for the Council to pull those kinds of strings. Parents have a strong desire to keep their children."

"Imagine that," Giles muttered. He shared a sardonic look with Travers before the man continued.

"In some countries, we can just go in and take a potential slayer, compensate her parents with money or influence, but even that is becoming more rare. We are looking at a new age, where we will have to watch the potentials at a distance until one of them becomes the Slayer. It will put them at a disadvantage. Your Buffy was the renegade, but soon it will be the norm. To train them after the fact, to educate them in their destiny after they are Called. We can expect the life expectancy of a slayer to decline. They will not all take to their duty as Buffy did."

Travers sighed and pulled the folder back to his side of the desk. He flipped past the photos, through other paperwork, skimming through the contents as he talked. "This girl was brought to our attention two months ago. We have been studying her to confirm the initial analysis. She bears the mark. She has the potential to become the Slayer."

Giles bowed his head. He had known the words were coming, had known since he first saw Travers in the lobby, but until they were spoken, they could still be denied. He had wanted to give his daughter the life that had been stolen from Buffy, but Fate always seemed to conspire against him. Daughter would follow mother, and it was out of his hands.

"She may be a potential, but she may never become the Slayer." It was the last bit of hope he had to cling to.

Travers nodded, allowing him that small measure of optimism before resuming the briefing. "Very few in the Council have met Buffy face-to-face, therefore the resemblance wasn't noticed until only recently. In our research, the adoption records were located and found to be inaccurate. Our suspicions were raised, and we discovered that she was your missing daughter. It makes the Council's job easier. Overturning the adoption should be quick work."

Giles stood abruptly and crossed to the window beside Travers, finding the street outside unnaturally interesting. "On the condition that we train her? You will help us get her back if we agree to raise her as a proper slayer?"

"Who better to train the girl than her own father, her mother's Watcher? You have made Buffy into one of the most extraordinary slayers of all time. You can give your daughter the same fighting chance."

Giles pivoted to face Travers, staring down the older man with the same icy glare that had always made Ethan quake. "You never intended to tell us. I was not expected here. If Angel hadn't found her as well, you would have overturned the adoption on your own and taken her away."

"There is a bigger picture here, Rupert."

Two strides, and there was no more than two inches between them. He didn't lay a hand on the old watcher, but Travers backed up all the same. "Now listen here," Giles spat. "This is the only picture you need to see. That girl is _my_ daughter, and you have no right to her."

Travers drew himself straight with pride. He tugged slightly on his lapels and rocked back on his feet. His face hardened with all the authority he could muster. "Don't make this more difficult than it needs to be. You must be aware that we have the power and influence to make sure that the McGregors' adoption stands."

"I am the child's father."

"There is precedent. The girl has been with them three years. Sometimes judges are swayed to give a child to the only home she has known, even above the rights of blood relations. The court only wants what is in a child's best interests, after all. And they may not find it in her interests to give her to a father with a violent and delinquent past and a mother who is so often linked to trouble."

"This is below even you, Quentin."

"The Council does what it must."

Giles stalked across the small width of the office, like a tiger in a cage, his anger rolling off of him in waves. Travers only watched, not even flinching as Giles made each pass in front of him, the large wood desk between them. Finally, the younger watcher faced him, leaning forward, his hands pressed to the red, cherry surface, his cold eyes boring into his adversary's very soul.

"And how will you hold us to this bargain? You can't threaten my green card anymore. I've married an American. You can shut the store down. You can fire me and cut off my salary. I imagine you can find various ways to make life more difficult for us. But we'll get by, and once we have our daughter, what will you have to hold against us?"

Travers' gaze never wavered. "Longsworth. Sulla." A longer pause. "Ben."

Giles paled and his heart sank.

"We have a tape recording of the telephone conversation ordering Longsworth and Sulla's deaths. The special ops who did the job will turn state's evidence if we ask them. And in the surveillance videotapes we recovered after Longsworth's murder, we have what amounts to a confession for Ben's murder as well." Travers rounded the desk and leaned smugly against the side, watching Giles with a sympathetic and solemn expression. "The Council, of course, will not condemn you for those deaths. We know better than anyone that sacrifices must sometimes be made for the greater good. Sometimes you do what you must. Just as the Council does what it must."

Giles deflated, his head bowed, his eyes closed.

"Unfortunately, the courts would most likely not see it that way," Travers continued. "And you certainly can't tell them the truth. Tales of gods and Keys and demons would only get you laughed right into a mental institution. On the other hand, a conviction on three murder counts would put you away for life, with no chance of parole. Neither option seems particularly appealing. But fortunately for you, the Council intends to protect you and conceal these crimes. For as long as you will support us, we will ensure that these tapes do not fall into the wrong hands."

Giles lifted his head, and his eyes narrowed. "Blackmail, Quentin?"

Travers pursed his lips in thought for a moment before answering. "Such an ugly word. But it is an ugly war we are fighting. The choice is simple. You can fight us on this, and the full weight of the Council will defend the McGregors' rights to Robin. You will lose your daughter forever. Or you can allow us to reclaim the girl for you on the small condition of her training as a slayer. And if you attempt to renege on your agreement, the tapes will find their way into the hands of the district attorney."

Travers crossed his arms with finality and tilted his head as he studied the younger watcher. "While you may be willing to spend the rest of your days behind bars as a martyr for your children, please remember that their mother's days are numbered. And who will care for them when she is gone?"

Giles wished for the ground to open up and swallow him whole. That never happened when you wanted it to. "You pompous bastard." But the fire had gone out of his voice. He was defeated.

Travers clucked his tongue and pushed himself off from the desk. He gathered the folder on Robin Deanna McGregor and headed towards the office door. "Now, now, Rupert, there's no need for hard feelings. After all, the Council is fully prepared to support your claim on the girl. And as for the rest... Well, how much under our thumb are you now?" A small smirk twisted his lips. "It would seem our positions have reversed themselves since our last encounter."

"I want to see her. If I am to bargain her life away, I want to at least see her first."

Travers tipped his head in acceptance. "We have already made arrangements to visit the McGregors this afternoon. They believe we are from the adoption agency, coming for a routine three-year follow-up. Of course, there is no such creature, but they are blissfully ignorant, and we have rather official looking paperwork to show them. I will be by at half past one. Until then, I have work I must attend to. But I am quite glad we had the chance to chat, Rupert."

Travers left, and Giles resumed pacing the office like a caged cat, like a lion wound tight and ready to spring. He wanted to put his fist through something. He wanted to pick up a sword and go ten rounds with his slayer. It would take her more than five minutes to take him down right now. He wanted to hunt down the Powers That Be and put his hands around their necks and make them answer for the cruel twists of fate they continued to heap on his shoulders.

He had found his daughter, but the Council had found her first.

Perhaps it would be better to leave her with the McGregors rather than condemn her to the life of a potential slayer. She would have the happy, normal life he wanted for her, and with any luck she would never be Called, would never know about the destiny she escaped. That would be the best thing for her. And no matter how much it would break his heart, he only wanted what was best for his daughter.

If that were his decision, then he shouldn't go to see her this afternoon. He would never find the strength to leave her behind if he set eyes on her, if he touched her and heard her voice and saw Buffy's blue eyes staring up at him. He would want his child, no matter the price.

Then again, what if she were Called? That would be a matter left to Fate, out of his hands, out of the Council's hands. If she did become the Slayer, she would need everything he had to give her. All the training and knowledge and skills that were his to give, they would buy her time, precious time to have some semblance of a normal life.

Giles was not a betting man. Even in his youth, he had always stacked the odds in his favor. At any one time, there were perhaps two hundred potential slayers of varying ages. When one dies, the next is Called, nearly always between the ages of 14 and 16. Which meant the Chosen was chosen from approximately a dozen or more possibilities. The probability that his daughter would be the right age at the right time _and_ be the one chosen was slight. The smart bet would be on leaving her with the McGregors to have a long and happy life.

He knew it was wrong, that it was selfish, that it would only complicate what should be a well-thought out and well-reasoned decision, but he wanted to see his daughter. If he were to leave her, he needed to know what kind of a home he was leaving her to. He would see her first, and _then_ he would decide what to do about the Council.

* * *

"You cold," Alex stated.

Angel adjusted the boy in his arms and glanced back to the office Giles and Travers had disappeared into. He was unsure if the watcher had educated his son about vampires and demons. Angel cleared his throat. "Yes, a little cold."

Cordelia giggled, and he glared at her.

Alex wiggled his fingers beneath the buttons of Angel's shirt with the boldness of childhood. The vampire startled, grabbing the child's hands quickly.

"Heart no beat," the boy said with certainty.

Wesley pushed up his glasses, stepping forward to attempt to rescue his friend. "Umm... Hello, Alex. My name is Wesley. Would you like to come with me and see some... umm... some really neat swords?"

Cordelia swatted him on the arm.

"Ouch! What?"

"Some 'neat' swords?"

"How am I supposed to know what a three-year-old would like? Do you have any better suggestions on how to entertain the child?"

The Seer, the ex-Watcher, and the Vampire with a Soul all stared at the little boy for long moments.

Cordelia smiled brightly. "They're really neat swords."

But Alex was enthralled by Angel. "You bad man?" His curious fingers reached up to stroke Angel across the forehead. "Bumpy head?"

So the child had seen a vampire before.

The smile faded slightly from Cordelia's face. "No, sweetie, he's a good guy."

But Angel was unwilling to lie to Giles' son. "I was a very bad man for a very long time. But I changed. And now I try to help people. I'm trying very hard to be good."

Alex considered this for several moments. Then he wrapped his small arms around the vampire's neck. "Like Uncie 'Pike?"

Angel started laughing in spite of himself. It was the funniest joke he had heard in a very long time. "Uncie Spike?" Those were two words he would have never expected to come from Giles' son. He could only imagine what the Watcher thought of his child's misplaced affection.

He took a few steps back so he could sit down on the staircase steps. He was still laughing and wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. "Yes, just like Uncie Spike, I suppose." And he would have never expected to lump himself in the same category as good old William the Bloody. But then today was just full of surprises. Here he was, sitting on the steps of the Hyperion, holding Buffy's child in his lap, entrusted into his hands by the man he had tortured and very nearly killed. That was the curse of his soul: that he could remember his crimes and his thoughts as he committed them. Giles had perhaps hoped it was only an idle threat, but Angelus did have a chainsaw, and were it not for Spike's intervening hand, Angelus would have used it.

The child was still studying him, perhaps trying to work out the joke he didn't quite get. Angel lifted the boy off his lap and placed him on his feet.

"So, Alex, what would you like to do while we wait for your father?"

Thoughtful eyes scanned the interior of the old hotel-turned-detective-agency, coming to rest on the wide stretch of stairs. He pointed. "Sled!"

"Well, aren't you a little devil?" Cordelia said, swooping in to tickle tender sides. "C'mon. I got a few video games on my computer. And I'm betting your father's never let you try the stuff."

Angel watched Cordelia and Wesley take the child behind the front counter and sit him in front of the computer screen. She found something suitable for him to play, and Angel simply remained on the staircase watching. There were moments when Alex giggled or tipped his head just so, that Angel could see a flash of Buffy. His heart ached at each glimmer and each reminder of her. He wondered if he would always love the Slayer. In his case, eternal love had a literal and painful ring to it. Perhaps that was part of his curse: to have her always so close and yet beyond reach, to watch another man give her all the things he could not, to forever stand in the shadows as a silent guardian over their children. For that was the vow he made to himself. After she had gone, and Giles too, Angel would watch over their twins and their children and each generation until he was dust.

Travers exited the office sometime later, nodding curtly at Wesley as he passed. For Angel, he could not even manage that. Angel knew that in the old watcher's eyes, he was a vampire and the enemy, as cut and dried as that. The Council would not give him the antidote to Faith's poison, nor would it spare his life in return for the rogue slayer. And Angel Investigations had complicated what should have been a routine kidnapping, by first preventing the abduction and then by bringing the child's father to town to claim her.

But with raging British insincerity, Travers smiled thinly and said, "A pleasure to finally meet you, Angel."

Angel stood and crossed his arms. As the old man moved to pass him, he stepped in the way. Very softly, so his voice wouldn't carry to his co-workers at the other side of the lobby, he told the watcher, "You hurt either of those kids, and I'll do worse to you than Angelus could ever imagine." And for the briefest of moments, he allowed Travers to see a flash of the demon inside.

To his credit, Travers didn't flinch, only looked down his nose at the vampire and replied, "Not every slayer who comes along will hold you in such high regard. Interfere in our affairs again, and the Council will send the next one hunting for you." He stepped around Angel like so much curbside trash and walked out of the Hyperion.

It was several minutes more before Giles emerged into the lobby. Angel could smell the anger radiating from the man in the same way he could smell fear. He had smelled both in the mansion on Crawford Street, and Angelus had gotten high off it. But the Watcher was outwardly calm, only Angel noticing that his breathing was a little more rapid and his heartbeat a little faster.

"Daddy!" Alex cried. "Look! 'Puter game."

"Yes, how wonderful," Giles muttered as he joined his son. "I'm so glad Cordelia and Wesley could introduce you to the joys of mindless video games."

"C'mon, Giles," Cordelia protested. "You gotta let the kid live a little, or he's going to turn 20 and start wearing an earring, join a rock band, summon demons, and call himself 'Ripper.' Wait, that was you. See? I rest my case."

Giles gave her an irritated glare, before smoothing over his expression and taking a deep breath. "I really hope this isn't an imposition... I need someone to watch Alex for a few hours, maybe more. I'm not sure how long I'll be gone exactly."

"No problemo," Cordelia insisted. "He can come hang out at my place with me. It'll be like a day off, but for a good cause." She looked at Angel as she said the last. "C'mon, Alex, let me show you this cool thing called a television. I bet your dad doesn't let you watch nearly enough of it."

Giles rolled his eyes as he watched the pair leave.

"Bye-bye, Daddy." Alex waved as he walked out the door. "Bye-bye, Angel."

There was silence for a moment before Wesley turned to his fellow Englishman. "How did the talk with Travers go?"

Angel could smell the man's anger peak. "My daughter is a potential slayer. The Council will help me get her back if I agree to raise her as such. Arrogant sods! Buried so far in their bloody books, they wouldn't recognize human love or compassion if it rammed a sword straight up their…" He trailed off and glanced between the two men watching him. "Sorry. Travers managed to push all my buttons, as always."

Wesley reached across and gave his shoulder a friendly squeeze. "Of course, if there is anything any of us can do to help, you have but to ask."

Giles smiled softly and nodded. "Thank you."

"Does Buffy know?" Angel asked.

"No, not yet." Her watcher dropped his head, guilt twisting his features. "I wanted to see what there was to tell first. She'll probably hate me for making this trip without her, but we've thought we were close so many times before... it always breaks her heart."

He raised his eyes to meet Angel's. And how could Angel blame the man for wanting to protect Buffy? Hadn't he done the same thing on more than one occasion? Prom. Graduation. Thanksgiving. He nodded his understanding and his absolution.

"What more do I need to know?" Giles asked.

And so Angel told him the whole story. About how Wesley had recognized another watcher he had trained with. How they had secretly tailed the man and stumbled upon his two other accomplices. How the three watchers had led them straight to the girl. How they had discovered the Council's plan to overturn the adoption and take the child back to England without her birth parents any the wiser. Angel had gone to fetch Giles as quickly as possible, but that very night the watchers had figured out that the detectives were on to them. Cordelia was warned of the danger in a vision, and Wesley and Gunn had foiled the Council's attempt to spirit the girl away in the dead of night. Travers himself had shown up in the morning, quite irate with Wesley for interfering and even angrier with Angel for involving Giles.

Having now brought the man up to speed, Angel waited for him to process the information.

"What will you do?" Wesley asked.

"If I don't agree to properly educate and train her, the Council will back the McGregors' adoption."

Wesley shook his head. "That makes no sense. They wouldn't give the child any slayer training either. There would be no purpose in keeping the girl with them."

"Except to spite me. For Travers, that may be enough." Giles took a deep breath, followed by a meticulous polishing of his glasses. "I'm afraid that may be the best thing for her, though, to leave her with her adoptive parents. She would have a better life than a prospective slayer. I keep thinking of the potential my father trained. I was fourteen or fifteen, I think, and she was no more than eleven. Sparring with a quarterstaff she barely had the strength to lift. Pulling back the strings of a crossbow so often in one day, it would make her fingers bleed. I don't remember ever seeing the girl smile. I don't even remember her name. She had her duty, and we had ours. And that is the kind of life Travers wants me to give my daughter."

"And if she becomes the Slayer, won't she need that training?"

Giles met the ex-Watcher's eyes, his own bleak and weary. "I have considered that. But in the end, does it matter? If she is Called, she will die. They all do. They fight. They die. And if I can give her fifteen or sixteen years of happiness and innocence, maybe she'll have something worth fighting for, worth dying for. Maybe that's why Buffy has exceeded all their expectations." He sighed. "I don't know. I don't know what I'm going to do." A pause. "Angel, will you walk with me?"

He hesitated. "It's daytime."

"That's fine. I'm not in the mood to walk in the sun today."

"Okay." And Angel led him to the underground tunnels that ran beneath the City of Angels, so aptly named, because it was his city now. And he walked with the Watcher who had once been his friend. And they talked like they had in the beginning, when he had been Rupert and not Giles, when they had shared late night conversations about politics and prophecies and Buffy, when Angel had been trusted and liked. And Angel knew the man was only seeking distraction, but he didn't care. Because for the moment he could simply pretend that nothing had changed between them; that those terrible months of Angelus had never happened; that he had not murdered the man's lover and savagely tortured him for hours. And he wondered if this was what a clean slate felt like.

* * *

Giles stood on the front porch of the middle class, two-story, two-car-garage, white with black trim, house. A mini-van and a gold Camry sat in the driveway. A red tricycle lay overturned and abandoned on the immaculately kept front lawn. The house looked identical to every other house on the block, which looked identical to every other block in the new subdivision. Slight variations in color and landscaping, but other than that, they were cookie-cutter copies all in a row.

He felt Travers' eyes watching him and wondered if his nervousness was that apparent.

"Are you ready, Rupert?"

Giles stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked away. He nodded slightly. No turning back now; Travers had rung the bell.

The door opened quickly. They had been expected. An average looking man in average looking clothes answered the door. He seemed as nervous as Giles felt.

"Shaun McGregor. Please come in."

Giles frowned. Only two hours from Sunnydale, and the man carelessly tossed off verbal invitations to complete strangers. Even if it was the middle of the day, the words "come in" were nothing but trouble. They entered the house, Travers taking the lead.

"Mr. McGregor, thank you again for having us."

Shaun shrugged. "I was told it was required."

Travers faltered, unaccustomed to American brashness. "Of course. At any rate... I'm Quentin Travers. I'll be conducting the interview today. This is my assistant, Rupert Giles."

Giles flinched. Assistant. Travers was enjoying this entirely too much.

They followed their host past the foyer and into a formal living room with its white carpet, plush white sofas, a baby grand, and a large seascape covering the furthest wall. Giles couldn't imagine that a three-year-old had ever seen the inside of this room. He prowled around the perimeter, inspecting the contents of the room, searching for something of his daughter's presence. He vaguely heard Travers and Shaun McGregor talking behind him. It didn't really matter what they were discussing. Travers was merely the front. They were here for Giles to see his daughter.

"Where is the girl?" he finally asked, after he had had enough of Travers beating around the bush.

Shaun looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Catherine and Robin went to the store. They'll be back soon. Maybe you'd both like the full tour?"

Giles nodded, barely containing his impatience as Shaun led them through the formal dining room and then the kitchen and family eating area. He proudly showed off the screened-in porch and its lush foliage. Just beyond was a spacious backyard, with swing set and sandbox. Giles scanned every wall, but found only artwork and dried flower arrangements. No family pictures. No photographic chronicle of his daughter's first years.

They passed the stairs leading up to the bedrooms and entered a library that even Giles envied: floor to ceiling bookshelves along every wall and a reading desk beside a window that overlooked the backyard. He skimmed through the titles: mostly classics, many books that he loved, all perfectly organized. One set of shelves housed a children's collection, containing many of the same titles Giles was reading to Alex.

He followed Shaun out of the library and into the family room. Giles held his breath for a moment. This is what he had come for. Every wall was filled with framed photos, nearly all containing his daughter. They told the story of her last three years, of everything that he and Buffy had missed. Professional baby portraits and family snapshots alike. Her first steps. Her first birthday, with chocolate cake smeared across her face and hands. A day on the beach. Her first Christmas, sitting on Santa's knee. A day at the park and pony rides at the zoo. His daughter was so beautiful and so resembled her mother that it made his heart ache.

"Maybe we went a little overboard with the pictures," Shaun said, coming to stand beside him. "Robin's an only child, so you could say she's a little spoiled."

Giles smiled tightly. He shouldn't hate the man beside him, but he did. He hated the man for becoming everything he had no right to be, for being Robin's father when it should have been Giles.

A door slammed, and a woman's voice called out to them, "Shaun?"

"In here," he answered.

A woman joined them in the family room, dressed in tasteful linen slacks and a navy blazer over a white top. But Giles had eyes only for his daughter, standing just behind her. The girl's eyes lit up, and it was Buffy's smile that beamed from her face.

"Daddy!" she squealed and came bounding towards Giles.

But she stopped just before reaching him. It was Shaun McGregor's arms that lifted her up, his neck she wrapped her arms around, and his face she covered in kisses. Giles could only watch in mute agony.

"Hey Princess, remember I said some people would be by to see you today? This is Mr. Giles and this is Mr. Travers."

"Hi."

Her eyes met his, and he smiled softly. They studied each other for several moments. He had searched for her for so long, now that he had finally found her, it seemed almost surreal. He had imagined this moment so many times: what she might look like, the sound of her voice, a little girl's giggle, and the flash of Buffy's smile. Now here she was in front of him, the daughter he had delivered into the world, whose first breaths had come from his mouth, whose slight weight he had cradled in his hands for the briefest of minutes before she had been stolen from him.

She regarded him seriously, a case of shyness causing her to lay her head on Shaun McGregor's shoulder and curl her fingers into the collar of his shirt. One thumb found its way into her mouth before she turned her face into the man's chest, away from Giles' curious eyes.

"Shall we begin the interview?" Travers asked.

The McGregors sat side by side on the family room couch, Robin perched on Shaun's lap. Travers sat near them on the loveseat. Giles chose a seat in an armchair slightly removed, watching the family wistfully. Travers asked them pointless questions, appearing to consider each answer carefully before jotting notes on the paper clipped to the clipboard in his lap. Giles paid no attention. His eyes greedily drank in the sight of his daughter, as if preparing for the long drought ahead.

His mind tried to work out whether this was the kind of home he wanted to leave her to. He tried to deduce the family relationships through each shared look, each casual touch, and the words that lay beneath the ones they spoke. He hoped Robin would misbehave, so he could observe how they handled it. If either of them struck his child, slayer training or no, he would take her away from them in a heartbeat.

Robin's shyness faded after a few minutes, assisted along by extreme boredom, and she slid from her adoptive father's lap. First came colored blocks, stacked in towers until they toppled. Then came dolls, which must be undressed and then redressed before being rocked and lined up in a cradle. She moved onto dress-up from there, placing a toy tiara on her head, bangles around her wrists, chains around her neck, and a wide brimmed hat over the tiara. She slipped her stocking feet into a pair of her adoptive mother's old high heels and disappeared out of the room. Moments later she returned with an armful of books, which she unceremoniously dumped into Giles' lap.

"Read," she demanded.

He grinned. Pushy little thing.

"Robin," Shaun scolded. "Ask nicely. I'm sorry about that," he said to Giles. "I hope she's not bothering you."

"No bother."

Robin blinked up at him with wide, blue eyes. "Pwease," she asked sweetly.

Giles laughed and lifted the books out of the way. She climbed into his lap without needing more of an invitation than that. She settled back against his chest, and he needed to tip her hat slightly and smooth back its feathers in order to see the book.

"Hmm... What do we have here? Dr. Seuss?"

She shook her head and closed that book before he could begin reading. She shuffled through the stack, pulling up a more acceptable volume.

"'Where the Wild Things Are?' A tale of nighttime monsters. More appropriate than you know." And then he began softly reading to his daughter, Travers and the McGregors droning on in the background.

Occasionally she lifted her head to watch him as he read, always glancing back to the illustrations when he turned the page. After he had finished, he closed the book, and she applauded happily for him.

"'Gain," she insisted, opening the book to the beginning once more.

He repeated his performance, and this time when he'd finished, she was staring at him intently.

"You talk funny," she commented.

He laughed at the blunt honesty of childhood. "Yes. I come from very far away. From England."

"Wif Queen?"

His eyebrows rose slightly, surprised that a three-year-old would know anything about other countries. "Yes, we have a Queen."

She climbed off his lap and took his hand. "See my room."

Shaun McGregor glanced over at them with some amount of surprise. "She certainly has taken to you. She's usually pretty shy around strangers."

"You don't mind, do you?" Giles asked. "If she gives me the tour?"

"Not at all."

"Just don't let her boss you around too much," Catherine McGregor added. "Once she gets over being shy, she can be kinda pushy. Not to mention talk your ear off."

"I'll manage," Giles replied with a grin.

Robin tugged on his hand, and he followed, but obviously not fast enough, because she had to urge him on, "C'mon, c'mon."

She led him out of the family room, through the library, and up the staircase by the kitchen. They passed a couple doors, reaching her bedroom beside the master bedroom at the end of the hall. She had a canopy bed and a room all in pink, with shelves of dolls and stuffed animals. She pulled him along to a child-sized table and chairs.

"Sit," she ordered, pulling out one small chair for him.

He chuckled. "I'm not sure I would fit."

Her bottom lip quivered, and she pleaded, "Pwease."

How could he say no? He folded himself into the chair, his long legs nearly up to his chest. Robin pulled out a tea set from under the table and laid out cups and saucers for each of them.

"A tea party, is it?"

"Wif Queen," she answered, pointing to a stuffed rabbit sitting in another chair.

"Ahhh." Giles smiled in understanding and nodded in the rabbit's direction. "My pleasure, your Majesty."

She giggled and filled his cup with imaginary tea from the pot, and her cup as well. "Sugar?"

"Two please."

She measured out imaginary sugar from a bowl and added it to his cup before sitting in the chair across from him. She sipped her imaginary tea, her little pinky raised in the air. The child probably watched far too much television.

"Drink," she insisted, pushing his cup closer.

He obliged, his pinky also raised because the cups were awfully small.

"Cake?" She offered him an empty plate, and he pretended to take a slice.

She chattered for a while, telling him about the neighbor's new kittens and the ballet classes she could take when she turned four and how Miss Lowe at the daycare taught her to play chopsticks on the piano. Giles quietly disapproved of the thought of his daughter in daycare, but other than that, he listened with rapt attention. Robin seemed thrilled to have such an attentive audience and soon moved on to reciting nursery rhymes and singing for him. It pleased Giles to note that his daughter had a natural talent for song even at three. Of course, the only examples he had to go on were "I'm a Little Teapot" and "The Itsy-Bitsy Spider."

Catherine McGregor joined them moments later, laughing at the sight of Giles and Robin sitting at the tiny table. "Oh dear," she exclaimed. "Honey, what are you doing to that poor man?"

Robin raised her cup. "Tea wif Queen."

"Say goodbye to the Queen. And say goodbye to the nice man. His friend says they have to go now."

Giles quickly looked down into his empty teacup. His heart hammered in his chest, and his throat suddenly felt dry.

"Bye-bye," she told him.

He looked up into his daughter's blue eyes. He swallowed hard. "Goodbye, Robin." He set the cup down and awkwardly lifted himself from the chair. He wanted to say something more to her, but he had no voice, so he simply followed Catherine McGregor out of the room and back downstairs to the family room where Shaun and Travers were waiting for them.

"Please, Mrs. McGregor, have a seat," Travers encouraged her.

She sat beside her husband, and he slipped one arm around her shoulders. They both studied the older watcher expectantly. Giles crossed his arms and leaned against the nearest wall.

"We are here for more than a three-year follow-up." Travers leaned back in the loveseat. He had always enjoyed the power he had to mess with people's lives. The Cruciamentum. The information he withheld on Glory. The blackmail he had on the three murders. He seemed to enjoy the power he held over the McGregors as well. "I'm sorry to inform you that the adoption will soon be contested. The birth parents never signed over their legal rights to the child, and they want her back."

There was a moment of stunned silence before Catherine bolted to her feet. "No! No, it's been three years, and the agency told us we were safe now, that it was too late for them to change their minds."

Travers nodded in a show of sympathy. "Unfortunately, they never relinquished her in the first place, so that is no longer true."

"No! I'm not giving her up. I'm her mother. I'm the only mother she's ever known." She started to cry, and Shaun rose from his seat to enfold her in his arms.

"Shhh, darling. We'll fight this. Don't cry."

Catherine lifted watery eyes to her husband, shaking her head vehemently. "I can't, Shaun, I just _can't_. I can't go through this again. I can't lose another baby. Especially not now, not after this much time. Robin is ours. She's _ours_. And now some judge who doesn't even know her is going to ask us to give her over to strangers just 'cause... 'cause what? 'Cause they had a good fuck and a little accident and nine months later a little baby they didn't want?"

"Cat, please," he admonished.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, wiping away her tears. "I'm sorry. I'm just so angry. What right do they have to her? Did they get up with her at three in the morning every night? Were they there for her first step? Her first word? Did they sleep in a chair by her bed when she spent a week in the hospital with tonsillitis? Do they know what to sing to her when she can't fall asleep? Will they know to cut her sandwiches diagonally and not across or she won't eat them?" Catherine was sobbing now, her husband valiantly trying to soothe her even as tears began to stream down his own cheeks. "They may be her blood. They may have had the making of her, but we've raised her and cared for her. In every way that matters, we're her parents. Robin is _ours_. Shaun, how can they take her away?"

"Shhh. We'll get a lawyer. We'll fight this."

"Of course," Giles interrupted, swallowing hard. He took a deep breath and focused on the laces of his shoes. Anything not to look at them. "Of course, the agency will do everything it can to help you keep the child. I wouldn't worry about it too much right now. The birth parents might even be pressured into dropping the whole thing."

Travers glanced over at him in surprise. Giles met his gaze evenly. He had made his decision. The Council would not have her. The McGregors would.

"Yes, well, that concludes our visit," Travers managed through clenched teeth. "Thank you for having us." He rose from his seat, his eyes never leaving Giles'. The McGregors led them to the front door, arm in arm and slowly composing themselves. Travers turned to them just before walking out the front door. "I do apologize for upsetting you. I'm sure you have nothing to worry about."

And the two watchers walked down the steps, the front door closing behind them. Just before they each reached their cars, Travers faced him.

"Would a slayer's training really be so terrible, Rupert? That you would rather not have her at all?"

Giles stared at the ground. His voice was soft. "She will be loved and safe. And with any luck, she will never know anything of slayers and watchers." He met the other man's eyes, and Travers nodded his resignation before climbing into his car and driving off.

Giles was heading towards his own car when he heard the front door open. He looked towards the house and saw Catherine and Robin walking towards him. He met them halfway.

"Robin wanted to give you something."

The girl held out a drawing, and he knelt in front of her. "For you," she said proudly.

He took the picture from her hands, smiling softly as he looked at it. A house and grass and the sun and a lovely stick figure family all in a row. Children the world over made identical drawings. "It's perfect, Robin. Thank you. I shall keep it somewhere safe."

She pointed to each figure in her drawing. "Mommy. Daddy. Robin. Alex."

Giles glanced up at her, startled. He looked back down at the four figures in the drawing, while her adoptive mother laughed off her statement.

"Alex is her imaginary brother. We keep telling her we can't have children, but she doesn't seem to understand. She's always talking about this brother Alex she's going to have. We just humor her, set out an extra plate for dinner and that kind of thing."

He nodded absently and folded the drawing carefully, tucking it into an inside jacket pocket. One hand reached out to brush against his daughter's cheeks and then cup her chin in his palm. "You be a good girl for your mother and father, Robin." There was more he wanted to say, but he couldn't with Catherine McGregor standing right there. "Goodbye, luv."

"Bye-bye, Giles."

He closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the sound of his name from his daughter's lips. She pronounced it right and everything. Then he stood and walked resolutely to his car without looking back. This was the right thing to do. He had to keep telling himself that.

He got in and started the engine. They were both waving at him from the porch. He waved back once before shifting into drive and pulling away from the curb. He curled his hands tightly around the steering wheel. By the first stoplight, his knuckles were white. Dear God, what had he just done? He had given away his own child. _It was the right thing to do_, he reminded himself again.

He reached Cordelia's apartment in record time, easily following the directions Wesley had given him. He waited impatiently for the elevator, finally taking the stairs. He needed to see Alex. He needed to hold his son in his arms.

He knocked, and the door opened on its own. How strange.

"Daddy! Daddy!" Alex came running at full speed, and Giles lifted him up eagerly, holding him tightly until the boy squirmed to be let down. "Look, Daddy! Look, I fly!"

Sure enough, the boy started to float around the room all on his own. Flying. "Bloody hell!" Giles darted forward and snatched his son mid-air. All he needed was a child who could fly whenever he wished. That would certainly go over well at his first day of school.

Cordelia chuckled. "Say bye-bye to Dennis, Alex."

"Bye-bye," Alex said, waving to no one in particular.

Giles adjusted his grip on his son, somewhat nervous that the boy would fly out of his arms at any moment. "Umm... Thank you, Cordelia, for watching him."

"No big. Dennis did most of the work."

"Yes, well..." He glanced around the apartment warily. Dennis? Wesley never mentioned that she had a roommate. "Thank him for me."

Then he turned and beat a hasty retreat. The door closed and locked behind him. He could have sworn Cordelia had been on the other side of the room.

"I want ghost too," Alex begged.

Ghost? Giles glanced back at the closed door. That explained a few things. How fascinating. He would have to talk to Wesley about this ghost Dennis. If he could truly interact with the living, they would be able to learn so much from him. Book titles were already dancing in his head.

"Want ghost," Alex demanded again.

Giles smiled as he carried the boy down the staircase and outside. "Sorry, son, you can't have one. Maybe you can visit Dennis some other time."

He belted Alex into his seat and climbed into the driver's side. One hand retrieved his daughter's drawing from his pocket. She was another man's child now, and this was all he had left of her.

Alex watched him quietly for a moment before asking, "Go see Robin?"

Giles nodded and put the drawing back. He reached for the ignition, but his hand was shaking and he dropped the keys. The weight of his choice had just come crashing down on him. The Council would back the McGregors if he and Buffy tried to fight for custody. And if by some miracle they beat the Council in court, Travers would simply play his trump card: the tapes. Not only would Giles go to jail for his crimes, but Buffy would know the whole truth of Longsworth and Sulla's murders.

Giles bowed his head until his forehead touched the steering wheel, his hands tightly gripping either side. He had lost his daughter forever. He was missing her already. Only now, there was no hope that this ache would ever lift, that he would ever be able to bring her home. And it was his fault that she was gone, his fault that they couldn't reclaim her. She belonged to the McGregor's now. Forever.

He heard the click as Alex undid his seatbelt, felt the boy's tiny hand on his arm. "Don't cry, Daddy."

But he couldn't stop. He covered his son's hand with his own, his head still bowed to the steering wheel, the hot wet tears streaming down his face. Small fingers combed through his hair and then patted him gently on the back.

The boy said it again. "Don't cry, Daddy." And then small arms circled his neck, hugging him tightly, and Giles felt his son's kisses across the back of his neck and shoulders.

Next: Part 4: Truth and Consequences


	4. Truth and Consequences

ORIGINALLY POSTED: September 29, 2001  
TITLE: The Family Business  
AUTHOR: JK Philips  
RATING: PG (some swearing)  
SUMMARY: After the events of The Ticking Clock, Buffy and Giles are still looking for their  
daughter. Can they save her from a terrible fate?  
SPOILERS: Everything up to "The Gift"  
DISCLAIMER: I do not own these characters; they are the property of Joss Whedon,  
Mutant Enemy & Fox. I simply am doing this for fun, and non-profit use.

* * *

Part 4: Truth and Consequences

Buffy sat at the dining room table. She hadn't changed out of her officer's uniform after coming home from work. She wanted to look like a cop, because Dawn was sitting in a chair across from her and Dawn was in so much trouble.

"Okay. I'm calm. I'm collected. I even got a little sleep. I wanted to wait for Giles, but I don't know where he and Alex went. You know what? Let's start without him." Buffy took a deep breath and placed her hands neatly on the table. She would stay calm. She would stay calm no matter what. "First things first: you can't see Spike anymore."

"That's so unfair!" Dawn jumped up from her seat and then reluctantly sat back down when she caught Buffy's glare.

"Life's not fair, kiddo. Time you learned that. If life were fair, I wouldn't be having to tell my kid sister she can't date a vampire."

Dawn crossed her arms and scowled. "So you can date Angel, but I can't date Spike?"

"Angel had a soul, and Spike does not. And no, before you say another word, having a chip in his skull is _not_ the same thing as having a soul." Buffy sighed, tired of explaining it. "And let's not forget: Spike was in love with me. He couldn't have me... so what? He moved on to you? Dawn, do you really want to be second choice? You deserve so much better than that."

"God! Ego much?" Dawn jumped up again, and this time she didn't sit back down when Buffy glared at her, but instead began pacing across the length of the dining room. "Does everything have to be about you? Is it really so hard to believe that Spike could want me, that he could love _me_?"

"Yes!" Buffy cried, now bolting out of her seat as well and closing the distance between them. "Tell me, Dawn, what do you two really have in common? Let's see. You go to high school. He sleeps in a cemetery all day." She tilted her hands back and forth as if balancing their two worlds on a scale. "You have a future and a long life to look forward to. He died over a hundred years ago. You've never killed anyone. He used to do it every night. Please tell me, what's the attraction? Is this just a rebellion thing? Are you doing this just to tick us off? 'Cause it's really working. Or is there really something more to this than 'the young innocent girl is drawn to the dark and dangerous brooding figure in the shadows?'"

Dawn shifted on her feet and glanced off to the side. "Spike doesn't brood. Angel was the mopey brooder. And for your information, there _is_ a whole lot more to it. Spike treats me like a grownup, always has, unlike _some_ people. And he's nice to me, and way more mature than any of the other boys at school."

"I should hope so," Buffy scoffed. "He's like ten times their age."

"And... and... we're both artists."

"Artists?" She rolled her eyes. "What's Spike do? Draw rude pictures on the mud floor of his _crypt_?"

Dawn bristled and met her sister's eyes. "He's a poet. He was a poet before he died, and he still looks at the world with a poet's eyes."

"You'll have to do better than that. As a poet, he stank. They called him 'William the Bloody' 'cause his poetry was so bloody awful. Spike told me that himself."

"Yeah," Dawn protested, "but he's had over a hundred years to practice and get better. You should read the stuff he writes now. He's got this whole tough guy exterior, but inside-"

"-he's just a cold blooded killer?"

"Why won't you believe that he's changed? Why can't you accept that I _love_ him?"

Buffy was about to give her a whole list of reasons, but the front door opened before she had a chance. Giles and Alex walked into the house. She had never been more happy to see him. Maybe her watcher could talk some sense into Dawn.

"Giles!"

But Giles looked as if someone had just died. And Alex, although lifting up his arms for a welcome hug, wasn't dispensing his usual enthusiastic greeting. Her watcher's next words only increased her dread.

"Dawn, will you take Alex to the park for a little while? I need to talk to Buffy alone."

Buffy gave her son a hug hello, and then a kiss goodbye before handing him over to her sister, who seemed very eager to escape the line of fire. Buffy's eyes never left her husband. She heard the door shut behind them and waited. And waited. Giles looked distinctly uncomfortable, never meeting her eyes, just standing there, shifting his weight and adjusting his hands in his pockets.

"Oh God," she whispered. "Who died?"

"No one's died," he answered. But he still couldn't look at her.

"But things are definitely not of the good?" Only silence answered her. "C'mon, Giles, you're freaking me out, here."

"I'm sorry, Buffy," he murmured. He took a deep breath and looked up at the ceiling, at the chandelier, at the table, with a longer glance towards the corner liquor cabinet. He couldn't look at her. The last time he'd had this problem had been her eighteenth birthday with the Test, the Cruisa-something, when he'd been shooting her full of slayer kryptonite on the sly. Giles could lie like a politician to strangers, but with those he loved, with things that mattered, he got all stuttery and was about as believable as Alex trying to explain how the cookie jar had toppled off the counter all on its own.

"Giles!"

He drew something from his jacket pocket, a piece of paper or a photo or something, and played with it between his fingers as he spoke. "I'm just trying to figure out a way to tell you something and... and have you not hate me when I've finished."

She frowned as she studied him. "Oh, Giles, I could never hate you."

He chuckled darkly. "Don't be so sure about that." And then he handed her the paper between his fingers.

She gasped as she took it. She knew from the first what it was. It was a photograph of a little girl. _Their_ little girl. Her hands started to shake, and her eyes filled with tears. "It's her," she whispered reverently. "Oh God, she's so beautiful."

"Yes, she is," he agreed. "Her name is Robin. She's... she's happy. She has two parents who love her and... and a pink room with a canopy bed and all the trimmings. A big backyard and a swing set beside a sandbox and a tricycle and... and she's frankly spoiled rotten."

Buffy's eyes darted up to meet his. He was looking at her finally, his green eyes sad and haunted. She knew now where his reluctance and his guilt came from. "You saw her? You went to see her, and you didn't tell me?"

He swallowed hard. "Buffy, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I never meant for it to happen like this."

He stepped forward and reached out one hand hesitantly towards her. In the end, he couldn't touch her, and his arm dropped back to his side. His eyes slid to the floor. He took a few steadying breaths, his chin moving without words. It was the library all over again, his confession of his betrayal of her after the Test and the same anger filling her heart. Her words to him on that occasion echoed in her head. _If you touch me, I'll kill you._

She focused on him, her Watcher, her husband, the picture still clutched in her hand. "You went to see her, and you didn't tell me? That's where you and Alex went today, isn't it? You went to see her without me?"

"It all happened so fast." His words were calm, carefully chosen. "It was never my intention to go without you. I meant only to see Angel, to determine if he had really found our daughter. I just didn't want to get your hopes up only to disappoint you again."

She nodded absently, tears spilling down her cheeks. She focused on the picture in her hands. They had found their daughter. That was all that was important right now. "When can we bring her home?"

His answer was so soft, and she certainly couldn't have heard him right. "We can't."

"When?" she asked again, her gaze alternating between him and the photo in her hands.

He closed his eyes as he repeated himself. "Buffy, we can't."

"What?" She took two steps back. Her body was trembling now, her tears falling freely, the picture desperately clutched in her hand as an anchor, as the proof that her daughter was close and the years of searching were finally over.

He stepped towards her, and she stepped back. He made no more attempt to come closer. He made no effort to meet her eyes. He removed his glasses and polished them as he spoke, his voice calm and collected, as if this were a lecture on a new demon threat or an obscure prophecy, not an explanation of why they could not bring their daughter home.

"Robin is a potential slayer. The Council will allow us to reclaim her on the condition of her slayer's training. Travers was there already, and he took me to see her. She was so happy, so vibrant and loved. How could I take that from her and give her a life of demons and fighting and death?"

Buffy focused on the picture in her hands. Her tears were falling on the glossy paper, and she wiped them away quickly before they could mark the photo. Her daughter looked so much like her. She had often wondered what that was like. There was so little of her in Alex and so much of Giles. Now to see this child who could easily be a smaller version of herself made her heart swell until it felt like it could burst.

She sniffed back her tears and tried to reason with Giles. "She may not become the Slayer, and even if she does... Well, I'm the Slayer, and my life hasn't been so horrible. I had a mom and a sister and a dad sometimes. And I had ice-skating and cheerleading and school dances. So what if she's a potential slayer? I just want to bring her home." Her voice broke on the last word, and she started sobbing. She felt his hand gently grip her shoulder, trying to draw her into his comforting arms, but she stood firmly apart from him.

"Buffy, you had all of those things _because_ no one knew you were a potential slayer. You were not found until you were Called, and so you escaped a slayer's training. Even after, neither Merrick nor I trained you as a conventional Watcher would. We had to adapt to you, to allow you freedom and a life of your own. Remember Kendra?"

Buffy snorted slightly with a soggy laugh. "She named her stake 'Mr. Pointy.'"

Giles nodded and smiled at the memory as well. "Because she had none of the typical accoutrements of childhood. No toys or stuffed animals. No friends. She trained for as long as she could remember, and she lived for that one purpose alone: to be the Slayer. She followed the Slayer's Handbook and obeyed her Watcher in all things."

Buffy giggled slightly again, and wiped her tears on the cuff of her uniform.

"Yes, something I had also expected from you right up until I actually met you. Kendra was the Council's ideal slayer. In the end, what did it get her? She barely lasted a year." He took a deep breath and tilted her head up with a finger under her chin. "I couldn't condemn Robin to that kind of a life, and the Council will only allow the adoption to be overturned on that condition. So I told Travers that she should stay with her adoptive parents."

Buffy's expression darkened, and her face twisted with rage. She knocked his hand out from beneath her chin. "What right did you have?" She shoved him backwards roughly. "What right did you have to decide that all on your own?" She clutched her head between her hands, her tears flowing freely once more. She couldn't remember being this angry, not even during the Test. She wanted to scream it at him: "She's my daughter, too!"

"I know that. God help me, I _know_ that, but there was no time for discussion."

She turned from him, spinning in a slow circle. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't think. She pressed her daughter's photo against her chest, and then slipped it into her front pocket. She faced her watcher again. This betrayal hurt worse than the other, because this time he had chosen it. She closed the distance between them and grabbed him by the front of his jacket, pushing him backwards until he hit the wall. She wanted to shake him, to hit him, but she held herself in check.

"You gave away our _child_?" she asked through her wrenching sobs. "How could you?"

Giles shoved back, his own voice filled with pain. "You think it was easy for me? You think I didn't want to bring her home? God, Buffy, you think I wanted any of this? Leaving her there was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. Harder even than putting you in the ground. But it was what was best for her. I did it because I love her enough to let her go. I wish you could have come with me. I wish we could have discussed it. But I stand by my decision."

Buffy's eyes narrowed. She had never imagined that she could actually hate him. "_Your_ decision. Fine. Stand by _your_ decision," she spat bitterly. "Just don't expect me to stand beside you." She pushed past him and was striding out the door just as fast as her legs could carry her.

He followed her as far as the front porch, informing her calmly, "He won't tell you where she is. None of them will. I asked them not to."

She glared at him as she climbed into the driver's seat and slammed the door. It was hard to tear out of the driveway like a bat out of hell when you were driving a nice family sized minivan. Especially when it made beeping sounds as you backed up. Buffy gritted her teeth, wishing she had brought her squad car home from work.

She wasn't sure where she was driving to. Giles was right. Angel wouldn't tell her where Robin was. Even when they had been dating, Angel had had an irritating habit of deferring to Giles over her. They had both thought it was their job to protect her. She was a grown woman now; she didn't need their protection; and she was getting real tired of their chauvinist attitudes. All she wanted was her daughter back.

The road blurred with her tears.

* * *

Giles paced the living room as he waited for Buffy to return. What would he say to her when she did come home? She hated him, and he could hardly blame her. He hated himself. The Council had him by the balls for as long as they had those tapes. And that was his fault too. How could he have been stupid enough to let the Council's own operatives do the job on Longsworth and Sulla? And he had opened his big mouth about Ben too. Wasn't that how it always happened in the movies? The killer was never caught until he bragged to someone about his deed.

Finally, he could stay in the house no longer. The walls were closing in on him. He grabbed his keys and left, walking through the neighborhood with such a cloud of gloom surrounding him that people gave him a wide berth. He passed through the park, but Dawn and Alex were not there. They must have returned home. He backtracked, and sure enough Dawn was sitting in the living room, but Alex was nowhere to be seen.

"Buffy came to the park, took Alex, and left," Dawn informed him before he could ask. "So you're in the doghouse now too? Join the club. At least she seems to have forgotten about me and Spike for the time being." She frowned. "You're not going to start in on me about that, are you?"

Giles settled into the chair beside his desk. At least Dawn didn't hate him. Then again, she probably didn't know what he had done. "That is the last thing on my mind at the moment."

"Good," she answered. "Can he come over then?"

"No," he said without hesitation.

"Can I go see him?"

"No."

Dawn scowled. "You know, you should suck up to me a little bit more. I can get you off my sister's shit list."

Giles sighed, tossed his glasses on the desk, and rubbed his weary eyes. "Don't swear, Dawn. It doesn't suit you. And I rather think there is very little you could do that would get me off your sister's 'shit list,' as you so delicately put it."

"I don't know," Dawn hedged. "What if I told her that Spike asked me to marry him, and he was going to live with me in LA after I graduated, and I was going to be an actress and not go to college?"

Giles studied her for a moment. "Is any of that true?"

Dawn shrugged noncommittally. "What if I told her that?"

He watched her with narrowed eyes. "I daresay that would take an enormous amount of heat off of me and place it directly on you." He stood and crossed to the couch, standing just in front of her. "Is any of it true?"

She wouldn't look up at him. She shrugged again and picked at a snag on her pant leg. "Maybe all of it?"

His jaw clenched. It was Angel all over again. Except this time he wasn't about to stand by and say nothing as some undead creature of the night kept a beautiful young girl from living the full and happy life she so richly deserved. Angel, at least, had the decency to realize that he couldn't be what Buffy needed, but Giles doubted that Spike would ever be so noble. Dawn had a chance at a normal life: college and friends and a career. She had a chance to get out of Sunnydale, away from the Hellmouth and demons and fighting and death. She had a chance at love and children and the American dream. He was going to make sure that she got that chance, that she got the chance to find a man who could share a life with her and give her children and walk in the sun and grow old with her. Spike wasn't going to steal that from her. Not while Giles still had breath in his body.

He turned and aimed for the front door.

"Where are you going?" Dawn asked in alarm.

Giles paused at the threshold. "To have a chat with William the Bloody." He slammed the door behind him. "William the Bloody- cradle- robbing- soulless- traitorous- miserable- excuse- for- a- vampire," he muttered to himself. The idea of giving Spike a good thrashing lifted his spirits somewhat.

* * *

"Auntie Wiwo!" Alex squealed, bouncing in his mother's arms. Willow smiled softly at him, and he reached for her. She took him in her arms, and he gave her an enthusiastic hug and a sloppy kiss. Aunt Willow was always good at making things better.

"Buffy?"

His mother was still crying and tentatively stepped around them to enter the apartment. She had been crying ever since she picked him up at the park, and nothing he did seemed to make her feel any better.

"Mommy sad," he whispered in Willow's ear.

She nodded and closed the door, following Buffy into the living room. "Hey, Alex," she said as she set him down. "I bet you don't remember what I've got in my toy box?"

A shy grin slipped over his face. "Legos!" And he dashed over to the chest in the corner to pull them out. Aunt Willow had the best collection of Legos, second only to Uncle Xander's collection of matchbox cars. He began building a big robot with four arms and five legs, glancing up occasionally to watch his mother cry in Willow's arms. She was sad because of Robin, just like Daddy. But Alex wasn't sad, because he saw her sometimes in his dreams, and he knew she would come live with them.

He walked over to the couch with his Lego creation, proudly holding it up between the two women for them to see.

"It's nice, honey," his mother said softly, wiping away her tears.

Willow ruffled his hair playfully and asked him a few questions about what his robot could do. He climbed into her lap and excitedly pointed out to her the claws on its hands so it could pick stuff up and its five legs so it wouldn't fall over. She set the robot on the floor, and waved her hand over it. It began to walk on its own and swing its hands through the air.

Alex clapped gleefully. Aunt Willow was certainly much happier than the last time he'd seen her. And she was doing magic again. Maybe she had stopped being so sad about Aunt Tara going to heaven.

But his mother was frowning. "When did you start doing that again?"

The young witch shrugged. "You guys have been nagging me to get a life, so I did. I made some friends, and we do magic. Things are actually getting much better."

But Alex was tugging on his Auntie's arm. He pointed at the robot. "Make fly. Pwease."

She gave him a wink. "You'll have to build me something with wings first."

So he quickly tumbled out of her lap, grabbed the robot, and dashed over to the Legos. He started building an airplane, and then thought maybe he would like a flying dinosaur better. Terry-something his father had called it. His mother and Aunt Willow continued to talk, but he never glanced up. He was focused too intently on building his dinosaur. When he had finished, he ran over as fast as his legs could carry him, stumbling once and holding his prize up so it wouldn't break. He thrust the dinosaur into his Auntie's lap and demanded again, "Fly!"

She laughed and held the winged Lego blob up into the air above her head. Alex was eye-level with her stomach, so he noticed it right away when she raised her arms and her shirt slid up slightly. She had something painted on her stomach. He lost interest in the Terry-dino that was now flying through the apartment. He had gotten his face painted at the fair once, and he wanted to see what Willow had on her tummy. His hand darted forward to lift her shirt. Her hand came down to stop him, but his mother had already noticed.

"Willow, what's that?"

She shrugged and batted the boy's hands away when he plucked at the hem of her top once more. "It's nothing, Buffy."

But Alex wanted to see what it was. He had gotten a red fire truck painted on his cheek, because Uncle Xander had suggested it. And then on the other cheek, he had gotten a bunny, because Aunt Willow had said that Aunt Anya would like it. And Dawnie had thought he should get a butterfly, so he had the lady paint one on his hand. Anya hadn't liked the bunny, but he wouldn't wash it off, so she had thought he should get a clown painted on him somewhere, as she glared at Xander. So he had the lady paint a clown on his other hand. And then he had liked the picture of the lion, so he asked her to paint that real big on his forehead. She even gave him a black nose and whiskers just for the fun of it.

They had all gone to meet Mommy and Daddy by the Ferris wheel after, and he had been real excited to show them all his artwork, but his parents were less than enthused about the amount of face and hand painting he had gotten done in their absence. They hadn't left him alone with his Aunts and Uncle for the rest of the day. Somehow he had managed to keep the paintings for a while, even over his parents' protests. Maybe Auntie Dawnie had something to do with that. But then five days later, she had gone to school, and Daddy had decided that enough was enough. Alex had screamed and stamped his feet in the tub and angrily splashed water at his father as all his beautiful pictures were scrubbed away.

Now he wanted to see what Aunt Willow had painted on her tummy, and she wouldn't show him.

But Mommy was as determined as he was, and a lot stronger. She reached across and lifted the shirt up enough to see some of the design painted across Willow's stomach. It kinda looked like a moon and a big lightning bolt.

"Willow," she said. "I know this symbol. We've been researching it for weeks. Dead bodies are showing up with this symbol, just about where you have yours."

The witch shoved her friend away and stood up, smoothing her top back down over her stomach. "It doesn't mean anything. It's harmless. We all have it painted on us, 'cause it makes it easier to do the group spells when we have this to link us all together. I could wash it off anytime I wanted to."

His mother stood too, and Alex glanced back and forth between them. He didn't understand why they were fighting. Willow's tummy painting wasn't that ugly. Maybe a dragon would have been better. Or some pretty colors.

"This is bad news, Will. Maybe this group you're hanging out with isn't all tra-la-la through the daisies and group hugs."

Willow's face darkened. The Lego dinosaur fell out of the air and hit the floor, breaking into all its separate pieces. "They said you wouldn't understand, and they were right. You wanted me to get a life and get over it, but only if it was the life you wanted me to have. You can't stand that I have friends besides the Scooby gang, that I'm doing stuff that doesn't involve slaying and watching people I love get killed."

"That's not fair. I never said that."

"You didn't have to. You're jumping to conclusions about people you don't know anything about. It's just a focal point for a harmless joining spell. That's _all_. And you... you want to make it into some sort of evil-Willow-fell-in-with-a-bad-crowd-and-I-have-to-save-her thing."

Buffy threw her hands in the air. "Don't you get that people have died, and it had something to do with that symbol?"

"Don't you get that I'm _happy_?" Willow retorted. "I know these people. I trust them. And whoever else is using this symbol for whatever other reason, my friends don't have anything to do with it." She crossed her arms. "Now, if you're going to say anything more about it, then I think you should leave."

"I think I should leave then."

And his mother picked him up in her arms and carried him briskly towards the door. He waved over his shoulder sadly. "Bye-bye, Auntie Wiwo," he called just before the door closed behind them.

* * *

Spike was dreaming of Dru. He did that sometimes, now that she was well and truly dead. He wondered if Angel dreamt of Darla after he staked her. They had both done it to save Buffy, and yet he didn't think it had cost Angel as dearly. Spike had honestly loved Drusilla. She was his black beauty, his savior, and he had kissed her one last time as she turned to dust in his arms.

But he never dreamed of that. She was always alive in his dreams, and it was always the past.

This time it was a Chicago speakeasy, and she was draped across his lap as he played poker with a roomful of gangsters. Little did any of them know that they were gambling with their lives now that they had invited Spike to the table to play.

"Naughty boy," she whispered in his ear. "All those kings and queens and no princes to come after. Tsk, tsk, who shall rule when they are dead?"

The others at the table groaned and folded.

"Dru, darling, it's kind of hard to play this game when you keep telling everyone what I've got in my bloody hand!"

She pouted at him. "But I want to play a different game. I want to play murder. If you're very good, I might let you win."

The others at the table looked confused. The kingpin asked them, "How do you play that game? It doesn't have a lot of wild cards does it?"

"Two wild cards," she informed him. "And it's very easy to play." Her face transformed into her vampire mask, her yellow eyes glittering in delight as she laid out the rules. "We kill you, and you die. Child's play."

And then all was a blur as the table overturned and the men ran and they were in the middle of the hunt and the kill. Only Spike didn't kill. He held some punk kid by the arm, and the guy fought against him, and Spike could feel the bloodlust and his fangs against his tongue. Only he didn't kill. He just stood there staring at this twenty-something kid. The first time, he remembered he had drained the boy, and half the room after, and his head had swum with the heady taste of bootleg liquor in their blood. Now he just stared at the fear in this kid's eyes.

Drusilla came up beside him and snapped the boy's neck, pushing his dead body out of the way. She tapped her Childe on the forehead. "Tin soldiers' knick knacks can't hurt you yet." There was blood on her lips, and he tasted it when she leaned in to kiss him. "You're free here. Free to hunt. Free to kill."

"I can't," he answered softly.

"Awww," she soothed as she stroked along his bumpy forehead until it smoothed back into its human guise. "My poor, poor boy. Someone has stolen his heart and keeps it in her pocket." She pressed her hands to her temple and jerked her head to the side with each statement. "Can't hunt. Can't kill. She'll hate you for it." She circled his neck with her arms. "Poor Spike. Thought the Slayer had the key to his heart. But she wasn't the Key, was she?"

Spike sighed and smoothed her long black hair back from her face, and she leaned into his caresses. "Ahh, Dru, even without a soul, we can still love quite well, can't we?"

"If not wisely," she reminded him.

"You see: this, what we had, _this_ was right, wasn't it?"

She smiled. "Right as the pretty dead orphans all in a row."

He turned from her and paced to the other side of the back storage room they were in. "The Slayer... the Slayer was all wrong. She was the enemy I couldn't kill, and there's a thin line between love and hate. But Dawn's different. She was gradual, comfortable, until I couldn't remember not wanting her. But it's wrong, isn't it, luv? It'll never work."

He felt Drusilla's arms slide around his waist and her cool breath against his neck. "I have a little secret for my Spike. The pixies whispered it to me while I was sleeping so far away. Something's coming. I feel it calling to me, singing across my whole body." She squirmed against his back, writhing against him. "The Beast is coming, and won't they need my precious Spike, then? Topple their house of cards, and the Watcher will call you brother."

He turned and took his black beauty in his arms. "What do you mean, Dru?"

She giggled and pressed one finger to her lips as if she had a wonderful secret. "Magic, Spike. Ding-dong, the witch is dead, and you'll have to play with her toys while the Watcher sleeps."

"I don't do magic, Dru. I'm not some soddin' wizard or something."

"Just an itty-bitty spell, Spikey. And then he'll give you the Key to your happiness." She leaned forward and kissed him tenderly on his cheek. "Be happy, Spike. If you can't find your happiness in the kill, then find it in her. I couldn't save you, but she can. Tsk, tsk," she scolded with a wagging finger. "Watcher's here, and you haven't any tea."

He was about to ask her what she was talking about when he heard the loud bang and bolted upright from his dream. The Watcher had flung open the door and was striding into his crypt. Spike wiped the sleep from his eyes. "Christ, whatever happened to knocking?"

He was lifted from his sarcophagus bed and rammed into the wall behind him by way of reply.

"Bloody hell," Spike gasped. "Who woke up on the wrong side of the Slayer this morning?"

"Dawn tells me the two of you are getting married and living in LA together."

Spike smirked and tried to shift beneath the other man's grip. "Yeah, so what? What business is it of yours?"

Giles abruptly released him and began pacing the length of the crypt. "Last time I checked, you had to be alive to get married."

Spike shrugged and pulled out a cigarette. "Yeah, I guess for it to be all legal and stuff. But there's a bloke downtown who does fake papers for some of the demons who live 'round here." He stopped when he caught the Watcher's glare. Maybe the man hadn't come to hear about wedding plans. "So you've come to give me the 'I forbid it' lecture, have you?"

Giles bent over and picked up a rock, throwing it neatly at one of the black painted windows near the top of the crypt. The glass shattered, and Spike ducked to avoid the sunlight now streaming through the middle of his home. The Watcher picked up another rock and bust out another window, and Spike had to jump out of the way to narrowly miss those rays.

"Hey! Hey! Hey! You don't see me showing up at your door with a shotgun, do you? Well, okay, there was that one time, but I didn't shoot anything." A third window broke, and he was pressed against the wall to avoid the sun.

"You claim you love her. If you truly do, then you'll say goodbye to her, and let her live a normal life."

Spike pulled out another cigarette. He had dropped the other. He had also dropped his lighter. He shrugged and stuck one finger in the sunlight until it burned. Christ, that hurt, but he had too much pride to let it show. He lit the cigarette from his finger, and then smothered the flame from his smoldering digit. The Watcher was watching him, and he didn't seem all that impressed. "I do love her." He took a satisfying drag off his cigarette. "I know you find that hard to believe, but I do."

The Watcher retrieved another rock from the crypt floor and made to bust out another window. Spike held out his hands to stall him. Giles paused, his arm in mid-swing, and waited.

"The Great Pooftah wants to date your slayer, and it's all poetry and star-crossed lovers. Even after his little stint in Hell, you lot take him back with open arms. Because he is the great brooding souled wonder, able to melt hearts with a single look of suffering and regret. But Spike will never measure up, will he? No, because he lacks that all-important-gotta-have-it-or-he's-less-than-a-man-soddin' Soul. You know what? Screw Angel and his fucking Soul."

Spike tapped out the ash from his cigarette and squeezed along the perimeter of his crypt until he had reached the one remaining dark corner where he could pace with the full power of his anger. "His amazing disappearing Soul. They could never be happy together, 'cause he can't be happy with _anyone_, or it's bye-bye Angel, hello Angelus."

He faced the Watcher, punctuated his words with the cigarette between his fingers. "Dawn and I can be happy, perfectly happy together." Giles raised the hand holding the rock once more, and Spike waved at him desperately. "No, no, no. Not just happy in the Biblical sense. I mean all around happy." Giles lowered his hand, and Spike took that as invitation to continue. "I mean, put Angel next to me, and who's the better man? Without my soul, I can still choose to fight the good fight and be a white hat and all that. Without his soul... well, you would know better than anyone what a sadistic bastard he can be." Spike saw the shudder go through the man, and he wondered if the Watcher had ever let his merry band of children know exactly what had been done to him in that mansion.

"You're still not a man, Spike. You can't give her everything she deserves. You can't give her any kind of life. You can't even get a job. And what about children?"

The vampire shrugged and took another drag off his cigarette. He blew a smoke ring and watched it in contemplation. "Might surprise you to know that Dawn already has a plan for that. She thought you or Xander might give it up." Spike smiled. The Watcher looked speechless, and that was always fun to do. "Not my first two choices, mind you, and I think I'd rather it be Xander, but Dawn knows you always had your heart set on a daughter. She knows it wouldn't be yours and Buffy's, but it would be a Summers all the same."

Giles dropped the rock and turned away from him. Spike finished smoking and stamped his butt out on the ground. He glanced out one broken window. Maybe another hour to sunset, and then he could get those fixed. With any luck, he could maybe pay Dawn a visit.

"You don't deserve her."

"No, I don't. You don't deserve her sister either, but Summers women are pretty stubborn in who they love, aren't they?"

The Watcher stepped to the door to leave, but Spike stopped him at the threshold. "One more thing, mate: you can stop her from seeing me, ground her and what have you, but Dawn's old enough to make her own choices now. In the end, she'll do what she likes, so you have to ask yourself: do you want to be part of her life or not?"

The Watcher disappeared out into the sunshine without another word. Spike carefully made his way to the other side of his crypt, avoiding each patch of sunshine, until he was sitting on his ragged old couch. He turned on the telly. At least the Watcher hadn't thrown a rock through that.

* * *

Jonathon huddled deeper into his sweatshirt. He had thought California nights would be warmer than this. He had also thought two hundred dollars would get him a lot farther than it had. He was wrong on both accounts. He saw an older woman coming down the alleyway towards him. He pulled his knees into his chest, trying to curl around himself and make himself smaller. Maybe she wouldn't notice him in the doorway and walk past. He was barely seventeen, but that didn't seem to matter much. He had already been propositioned several times by older women. One had actually been almost twenty-seven.

She did notice him, and changed direction to approach him. Jonathon groaned softly. He was tired of saying no.

"Hey, kid, need a place to stay tonight?"

He shook his head, hoping she would just go.

"Are you sure? 'Cause it looks to me like you're sleeping in a doorway in some dark alley in a pretty seedy part of town." She knelt down in front of him. "You look familiar. Jonathon, right?"

He glanced up, startled. "Did my parents send you?"

She laughed lightly. "No. Don't worry about that. I just think I recognized you from an audition I helped with a few weeks back. You tried out for that chicken soup ad, didn't you?"

"Yeah."

She turned to sit in the doorway beside him, her back leaning against the chained and bolted door. She drew up her knees to her chest to match his posture. She was a lot smaller than he was, but Jonathon thought she was maybe 26 or 27, maybe even 28. Short hair, a friendly smile. He began to feel at ease with her right away.

She turned to the side and studied him. "LA's a big town to be in by yourself. You know, I was a runaway a long time ago. Came here to hit it big. My parents didn't understand. I lived in this tiny little town in the middle of nowhere, and they couldn't understand why I didn't want to just meet some nice farmer and settle down with a flock of kids."

He chuckled. "Yeah, mine too."

"I packed up one night with all the cash I had saved and took a midnight bus to LA. Never looked back. That what you did, kid?"

He shrugged. "Pretty much."

"I think we have something else in common," she said with a small smile. "I thought I had an advantage over all the other fledgling talents. I thought I could give the directors a little push, give myself a little glamour, maybe make my name stand out just a little bit brighter. You know... magic?"

Jonathon's eyes grew wide, and he stared at her in shock. He had never told anyone his little secret. He had grown up in a town of just over 700, and magic was wrapped up with the devil in their eyes. "How... how did you know?"

"C'mon, you got called back, didn't you? And sorry to tell you, but you weren't _that_ good." She pulled a business card from her pocket. "Tell you what. I run a shelter for runaways on the side, and you come by, I'll put you up. We have about twenty boys there right now, and I think you'll fit right in. Maybe I can hook you up with some acting jobs, maybe teach you a little magic in your spare time. Would you like that?"

He smiled widely. "Yes, I would. Thank you..." He glanced down at her card to find her name. "Thank you, Sabrina."

* * *

Giles tried to focus on the book he was reading, but he was spending more time looking at the clock on the wall. It was getting very late, and Buffy still hadn't brought Alex home. She never took him on patrol with her, and she hadn't skipped a night of slaying in quite a while. He was beginning to worry. Dawn, at least, was safely upstairs on the computer, probably telling her online friends how mean her guardians were to keep her from her boyfriend. If Buffy had truly left him, she would have taken her sister. So at least he knew she would be back.

Finally at a little after midnight, the phone rang. There was a moment where he felt sick to his stomach, and he didn't want to answer it. But he swallowed that feeling and picked up the receiver.

"Giles?" It was Xander.

"Is everything alright?" He wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer to that.

"Yeah, everything's fine. That's why I was calling. I know Buffy's pretty ticked at you right now, but I thought someone should at least call you and let you know that they're fine. They're probably staying overnight, and then Buffy said something about shopping tomorrow. But, hey, she's gotta work on Monday, so she can't stay... Hey!" Giles heard a commotion in the background and a loud crash. Xander's voice was muffled. "Alex! C'mere, Uncle Xander's got a present for you. Shh... Don't tell Mommy." And then he was talking into the receiver again. "I'm back. Sorry about that, Giles, but I think you owe me a new Babylon 5 collector's plate."

"What is Alex still doing up? It's past midnight."

"He was asleep for a while, and then he woke up, and Buffy's on patrol, and Anya gave him some ice cream, and he's a little wired. Here, just a sec. Hey, Alex, wanna talk to Daddy?"

He heard his son's chorus of affirmations, and Giles smiled. A moment later he heard his son's soft breaths over the line. "Daddy?" the boy said softly.

"Hello, son."

Alex giggled. "Wiwo make Lego fly. Tummy painted."

"You had your tummy painted?" he asked, confused.

Alex giggled again. "No. Wiwo. Auntie Aunie i'cream."

"Yes, Xander told me about that."

"Oopsie. Broke p'ate."

"Yes, I heard that too."

His son was silent for a moment, and Giles wondered if he was handing the phone back to Xander. But then the child informed him very quietly, "Mommy cry."

Giles didn't know exactly how to respond to that. He leaned his forehead against the wall, holding the receiver a little more tightly. "Yes, she's very sad right now, so you'll need to be extra nice to her for me. Okay?"

"'Kay," the boy said brightly. "Uncie Xand talk. Bye-bye. Luf you, Daddy."

"I love you too."

But Xander already had the phone by then. "Wow, G-man. You love me? That's so sweet."

Giles sighed. "Xander..."

"Yeah, well, I'd better get going before Buffy gets back from patrol. Listen, she told me everything that happened, and... well... I know she's pretty upset about it, but... I just wanted you to know that I probably would have done the same thing in your place. So... you know... if you wanted to stop by tomorrow, Anya and I are probably going to order in Chinese and watch movies."

Giles was touched by Xander's concern. But he hesitated before answering. "This wouldn't by chance be an elaborate attempt to force Buffy and me into the same room together, would it?"

"God no!" came the insistent reply. "I don't want an angry Slayer in my house. If we were going to fix you two up, that would be more of an eating out thing. So... you coming over?"

"Thank you for your kind offer, but I really have a lot of research to go over. I managed to pick up a few books with information on the sword of Camela while I was in LA."

"Suit yourself. Hey, Slayer in the house. Gotta go."

Giles heard the click, and he hung up as well. At least they were safe. He sat at his desk and focused on his reading a little more easily. He had no desire to lay down in his empty bed, so in the end, he fell asleep at his desk, his head resting on the book before him.

He woke the same, slightly later than usual. He puttered around the kitchen, fixing tea and eggs. His morning routine seemed empty without his usual three-year-old shadow. He rarely spent this much time away from the boy. Alex came to the store with him when Buffy worked, and the only times she had their son alone were the Saturdays he worked at the store and she had off. Sundays were their time together, he and Buffy and Alex and Dawn.

He ate his breakfast alone, missing his son terribly. But then, he imagined that was the point. Buffy wanted to hurt him as he had hurt her. He wondered bleakly if she would ever forgive him.

Dawn joined him after a short time, and they sat in silence, not sure what to say to each other. She saved him the bother by leaving to go to her friend's house. He called to check up on her after a little while, just to make sure she hadn't snuck off to see Spike.

He had a Sunday to himself, something that hadn't happened since living in this house. He wasn't sure what to do with himself. There was always research, and yet his heart just wasn't in it. Within a few hours, he had an unexpected visitor to provide some distraction.

"John!"

His friend stepped around him, glancing around the house as he entered. "Aren't you going to ask how I knew where you lived?"

Giles shut the door behind him. "I imagine you looked in the phone book."

John grimaced. "Damn. I could have done that, I guess. Probably would have been easier than having April look it up in the precinct database. Having a cop for a wife is kinda cool, sometimes you forget there are more conventional ways to get information."

Giles laughed and waved the other man to a seat in the living room. "If it were Buffy, she would have just shoved a phone book in my hands. Can I get you anything?"

"Nah, can't stay long." Giles couldn't quite conceal his disappointment, and John seemed to reconsider. "Well, maybe a Coke."

When Giles returned with the soda for his guest and tea for himself, he found John holding a framed photo of their little family. The man chuckled. "Poor kid got his father's looks."

Giles nudged him playfully as he passed over the soda, and John chuckled even more. "So where is the little munchkin?" the man asked.

Giles sat in the armchair just to the side of John. "Buffy took him shopping for the day. Dawn, her sister, that's the other girl in the picture, she went to a friend's."

"So they left you home alone?" John took a long swig from his can, and then studied his friend for several moments. "You and the Mrs. have a fight?"

Giles found himself caught off guard, and the teacup rattled against the saucer. "How did you know?"

"Women and shopping. I think it's a genetic thing. They get mad at you, and they go shopping. If you sent her out with a credit card, you'll probably be forgiven by the time she gets home."

Giles laughed and set his cup on the table. "I doubt that very much."

"A man can hope." He sighed. "I wish I could stay longer, but I only dropped by to see if you wanted to have dinner with April and me on Tuesday night. Bring the family. It'll be fun. I'm going to cook out on the grill, and I guarantee you've never had anything like my barbeque chicken."

Giles smiled and accepted. "Although, such an invitation could have easily been extended by phone."

John shrugged sheepishly. "Alright, so I kinda wanted to have a look at your place and maybe meet your kid. And I had a little time to kill before my daughter came for lunch."

They sat in silence for a little longer, before they resumed their conversation from the night of the charity banquet. And the little time John claimed he had to spare soon turned into an hour, at the end of which he rushed home, saying _his_ wife was going to go shopping with _his_ money now that he was so late.

Giles was left alone once more with his empty house and his heavy heart. He buried himself in research, not expecting Dawn home until after dinner or Buffy until she absolutely had to return for work. He was somewhat surprised to hear his son's chorus of "Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!" sometime before dinner.

He had barely turned the corner into the foyer, when he was met with a flailing mass of waving arms and sprinting legs. He lifted the boy easily, and gratefully accepted the child's enthusiastic hugs and kisses.

Alex bounced excitedly in his arms. "Go park. Go beach. Feed birdies." He held up one tiny finger, now wearing a band-aid. "Bad birdies. Owie." He held the finger to his father's lips, for him to kiss and make better, which Giles gently did.

Buffy came up behind them, and Giles searched her expression for some hint of what she was feeling. But she was closed off from him, and told their son, "Go play in your room for a little bit, Alex. I have to talk to your father."

Giles set the boy on the ground, and he dutifully climbed the stairs to his room. Giles braced himself for whatever was coming next.

Buffy crossed her arms. "The Host."

"What?" He shook his head. Surely he had missed some part of this conversation?

"The green guy at the demon karaoke bar. We sang, and he told us we would get our daughter back, but if we lost her again, she would belong to the darkness. Tell me you didn't just give her up to the darkness."

Giles sighed. "Prophecy is a tricky thing, Buffy. And I don't tend to have a lot of faith in what the man at Caritas told us. It was all very vague, and well... a karaoke bar."

"He said we should keep her, that if we didn't, it would be a bad thing."

"All we can do is make the best decision we can with the information we have at the time. Whatever vague warnings the Host might have given us are vastly outweighed by the very real choice the Council has laid before us. Let her adoptive parents keep her, or raise her as a slayer. Given that choice, there is only one acceptable option. You must see that."

She looked down, still unwilling to let go of her hope. "Maybe we _say_ we'll train her, and take her, and then back out. What are they going to do? They can't take her back."

This was the moment he had dreaded. He wasn't sure how much of that blackmail he could reveal to Buffy. "I had considered that possibility, but Travers set me straight rather quickly. They have proof that I killed Ben, and they'll bring me up on murder charges if we try it."

Her eyes darted up to his, and there was compassion there. "Oh, Giles!"

He swallowed and looked away. Would she still show him such sympathy if she knew the truth about Longsworth and Sulla as well? "I would take it, Buffy, if I thought... I'm not afraid of going to jail, and I would do it gladly to bring her home to you, but... that is to say..."

She stopped him with a tender touch on his chest. "But I don't have forever, and if you were gone too, they wouldn't have any parents."

He nodded softly and felt her arms slide around him, something he had never thought to feel again. He wrapped his own around her and held her tightly as he felt her begin to sob against him. Her tears slowed for a moment, and her voice was muffled against his chest. "I know you probably did the right thing by leaving her there... but I still hate you for it... I can't help it... You should have told me... You should have taken me with you... I know you think I shouldn't see her... that it would just make it worse... but I don't need you to protect me." Her sobs resumed in earnest. "Oh, God... I just... want to... be with... her."

He rubbed her back kindly as she wept in his arms. "I know, luv, so do I."

* * *

Sabrina paced impatiently. Joseph Zalk watched her pace, finding her impatience very irritating.

"It's coming, it's coming," he assured her.

Joseph Zalk was practiced at cool and collected. He was a lawyer after all. Or at least he had been before that fatal wine tasting. He probably would have even made partner at Wolfram and Hart by now, but they didn't as a general rule employ vampires. They only kept them on as clients. So he had paid his money, and they had gotten him what she wanted, and now Sabrina would get him what _he_ wanted.

Two other vampires finally entered the warehouse, carrying a long box between them. She nearly jumped up and down when she caught sight of it.

He motioned the two over and opened the box, pulling out the coveted item. He drew it from its sheath and handed it over.

She held it as if it were made of glass, tracing her fingers over the etching on the blade and the symbol on the hilt. "The sword of Camela," she breathed, as though the words were her favorite prayer. "Finally, after all this time."

He snatched the blade back from her hands and re-sheathed it. Her face darkened, and he said curtly, "You'll get your payment _after_ I get mine."

Sabrina crossed her arms. "Fine. I've just found the perfect boy to round out our circle. A circle of twelve, and I will be the thirteenth, the center. We'll cast our spell tomorrow night, so you be ready with your men."

"The spell will show us the location of every last one?" He had asked the question many times before, but he was a lawyer, and he hated loopholes. He would have rather had a written contract, but witches didn't generally work that way.

"Yes," she replied in irritation. "The spell will show you every last potential slayer in the whole world. If you've done a good enough job spreading your men out across the globe, you should be able to pick them all off."

He smiled happily. "And then when we kill the Slayer..."

"There will be no one to Call," she finished for him. "No more slayers ever."

He nodded approvingly and rubbed his hands together happily. This would definitely buy him back into the employ of Wolfram and Hart. Perhaps even into a partnership. "We'll hold the sword for safekeeping until the spell is finished, and the slayers are all dead. Then I will gratefully give you your payment."

Sabrina nodded her acceptance and exited the warehouse. Joseph re-boxed the sword of Camela and made sure it was stored somewhere only he had access to it. If Holland Manners could see him now, wouldn't he be proud?

Next: Part 5: Daddy's Little Girl


	5. Daddy’s Little Girl

ORIGINALLY POSTED: October 9, 2001  
TITLE: The Family Business  
AUTHOR: JK Philips  
RATING: PG  
SUMMARY: After the events of The Ticking Clock, Buffy and Giles are still looking for their  
daughter. Can they save her from a terrible fate?  
SPOILERS: Everything up to "The Gift"  
DISCLAIMER: I do not own these characters; they are the property of Joss Whedon,  
Mutant Enemy & Fox. I simply am doing this for fun, and non-profit use.

* * *

Part 5: Daddy's Little Girl

Things were still tense between Buffy and Giles, but at least she had come home. And they had slept in the same bed, albeit on completely separate sides. When he woke in the morning, she was gone, having gotten up extra early to miss him as she left for work. That was a sure sign of her anger, because Buffy was not a happy morning riser.

Giles arrived at the Magic Box with Alex in tow and soon discovered that Anya had taken it upon herself to save his marriage. She was plum full of helpful advice for him and articles she had clipped from Cosmo and Vogue and oddly enough, Money Magazine.

"A good stock portfolio should win over any reasonable woman," she told him.

The articles from Cosmo and Vogue, on the other hand, all involved sex. "Ten Ways to Make Her Scream" and "Bedroom Secrets Every Guy Should Know" and "What Women Want (But Are Afraid to Ask For)" and other titles that made him blush without even reading the content.

"Anya," he protested, shoving the articles across the counter to her. "I assure you that _this_ is not the problem we are having at the moment."

She stared at him as though he were daft and shoved the articles back to his side. "Yes, but good sex can fix a whole lot of other problems, or at least make them seem less important."

He blushed even more hotly, and then belatedly realized that they had forgotten about their possible audience sitting nearby. He was quickly reminded when his son asked the one question that every parent dreads: "What sex, Daddy?"

He floundered for several moments, before Anya stepped in to explain the facts of life. Giles immediately stopped her and carried his son into the side office where the boy could play dominoes without listening to lifelong-therapy-inducing conversations with Anya.

He returned to find two more articles she thought pivotal to his and Buffy's reconciliation. He sighed. "While this is... thoughtful... in a strange sort of way, I don't believe these articles are going to be of any help. I'm sorry."

She glared at him. "Well, they certainly don't have any articles called, 'Six Ways to Get Your Wife to Forgive You After You've Given Away Your Only Daughter.'" Her brow furrowed in thought. "Or at least I don't think they do. I haven't read them all yet."

Not knowing how to respond to that, he didn't. He just returned to stocking his new shipment of books on the shelves. Sometime near noon, Anya decided that flowers were the way to go. He wouldn't have known what she was up to, except that she asked him how to spell 'transgressions' and he got a look at the note she was composing for him.

"I can buy my own damn flowers," he assured her.

"Then please do," she retorted, sliding him the phone book, opened to where she had circled the more inexpensive florists.

The final straw came a couple hours later, when she involved Alex in her little quest. They were in the back office, looking through catalogs, and the boy was helping her pick out the perfect gift for his mother. He ratted her out as Giles walked by: "Look, Daddy! Pretty for Mommy."

He scooped up his son and stared down Anya as he spoke. "Yes, son, it's lovely, but your Mummy has enough pretty things. And while your Aunt Anya's intentions are well-placed, emptying my bank account will not make your mother any happier."

"It certainly couldn't hurt," she grumbled.

So it was with no small amount of relief that he locked up for the day and returned home. Alex had missed his nap at the store, and so promptly fell asleep in the car. He slept through dinner too, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing, because the ominous silence between his mother and father and Dawn would have only disturbed him. Giles thought the child might even sleep through the night, and so buried himself in research. Dawn was ignoring him now too, whether because of Spike or because Buffy had told her about Robin, he couldn't be sure.

But Alex didn't sleep through the night. Shortly after his mother had left for patrol, he came toddling down the stairs to find his father.

"Daddy?" There were tears on his cheeks, and his chin was quivering.

Giles set aside his book and moved to lift the child into his lap, but Alex resisted, tugging his father instead towards the front door.

"What is it, son?"

"Go Robin. Now."

Giles knelt on the floor in the foyer and wiped the tears from his boy's cheeks. "We all love Robin very much, Alex, but this isn't going to be her home. Some very nice people are taking care of her for us."

Alex shook his head and tugged on his father's hand again. "Go Robin. Now."

"I wish-"

"_Now_!" he insisted, stamping his feet. "Fire!"

Giles felt his heart sink into his stomach. All the color drained from his face. "What?" he whispered.

"Fire! Fire! Fire!" the boy chanted, stamping his feet.

Giles didn't want to believe his son, he didn't want to remember how the boy had known his sister's name before they had, didn't want to think that his child was having prophetic dreams. More than anything, he didn't want to imagine that his daughter could be trapped in a fire.

His moment of hesitation passed, and he was on his feet, racing for the phone. LA was two hours away, and he would never make it there in time. Please, God, let Angel be in.

Only the answering machine.

"Angel, are you there? Pick up. Anyone? This is Giles. I have reason to believe there may be a fire at my daughter's house. Please, someone check it out."

He hung up, frustrated beyond belief. Angel had a cell phone. Giles found that number and tried it. It rang a couple times, and then there was silence, followed by a voice talking to someone else. "Wes, any idea how to work this blasted thing?"

He heard some static and then a clear voice, Wesley's voice. "Hello?"

"Thank God," he sighed. "Wesley, I need someone to run by Robin's house. I believe there may be a fire. Don't ask me how. Just... can you do that for me?"

"Of course, but you should know we're in hospital right now."

"What's happened?"

Wesley's voice came through slightly more muffled, as if he were trying to shield the conversation from eavesdroppers. "Cordelia had a whole slew of visions, so many that she's passed out. The staff are trying to keep her sedated, but it doesn't seem to be doing the trick. Each time she regains consciousness, she's in the throes of another vision until she blacks out again. It's like when Voca turned up the intensity of her powers, except this time we don't know how to stop it."

"I'm so sorry."

"We're taking turns in the hospital with her and on the street. Fred and Gunn and some of his friends are patrolling right now. Unfortunately, without Cordelia being able to tell us what she's seeing, we're just blindly searching the city for trouble. But I will send Angel by Robin's house."

"Thank you, Wesley. Have him call me on my cell phone when he's done that. You have that number, right?"

"Yes. You won't be at home?"

Giles was already scribbling a note for Buffy. "No, I'm coming up there. It will put my mind at ease. And maybe I can offer some assistance for Cordelia's condition. Thank you again for doing this. And thank Angel for me."

He hung up, picked up his son, and dashed up the steps to Dawn's room. "You have to watch Alex until Buffy returns. I've left a note for her. I have to go to LA. I'll call as soon as I have more information."

"Is this about Robin?"

"Yes."

Alex only watched with wide eyes, his desperation gone now that his father was taking action. He crawled up into Dawn's bed and lay down. Giles had his keys and was out the door a moment later. He wished he knew where Buffy might be patrolling, so he could bring her along. She would truly never forgive him if he went without her a second time. He watched the graveyards as he drove out of town, but he didn't spot her, and he didn't dare take the time to search for her. He felt his son's desperation and urgency driving him to reach LA as soon as possible.

Angel called twenty minutes into the drive, telling him that all was fine at Robin's house. No fire, no one lurking about. He would check again, and periodically through the night, but they were all still frantic to help Cordelia and to stop whatever evil her visions foretold. He called again a half hour later, saying that Robin was still fine, but that Cordelia had become coherent enough to direct them to a nearby hospital, where vampires were raiding the nursery, before she passed out again. Not another call the rest of the drive. It was the longest hour of Giles' life.

He imagined Angel and the others were at the hospital trying to stop Cordelia's vision from coming to pass, but while they were busy with that, Robin could be in very real danger.

Giles turned onto the side street leading to the McGregor's house, and his worst fears were realized. Moonlight illuminated the thick cloud of smoke that billowed up from the two-story house where his daughter lived. He parked beside the curb and climbed out of his car without bothering to turn off the ignition. A neighbor who had seen the smoke was standing in the front yard in her nightgown, peering up at the second floor windows. He dashed up to her, demanding urgently, "The McGregor family... Did they all get out?"

She shook her head. "I haven't seen them."

He ran towards the house, paying no heed to the neighbor's shouted warnings: "Don't go in there! I've called for a fire truck. It should be coming soon."

They were all inside. He knew it. Where else would they be? It was after midnight, and their cars were both parked in the driveway. The door was locked. Of course. He wrapped his hand with a handkerchief and smashed in the decorative glass beside the front door. He reached his hand through and turned the deadbolt.

He entered the house, coughing and bending over to stay below the worst of the smoke. The security alarm he had just tripped by smashing the glass now blared over the steady screeching of the smoke detectors. The smoke made his eyes water, and he shook the glass from his handkerchief before holding it over his mouth to help him breathe. Flames blocked one path, so he took the only other one open to him. He stumbled through the formal living room, past the formal dining room, into the kitchen, and came to a dead standstill before the kitchen table. He had found Shaun and Catherine McGregor.

He quickly turned from the gruesome sight, but not before he caught a glimpse of how their bodies had been mutilated and draped over the oak table, which now stood at the center of a symbol drawn in blood across the tiles. Giles had a strong stomach. He had to in his line of work. But even he felt his legs grow weak and his stomach heave at the sight of what had been done to the McGregors. He caught himself with one arm against the wall. He drew in several deep breaths, coughing as the smoke made it in with the air. He knew he would have to turn around and look again. He had to make sure his daughter was not lying with them.

He looked back at the pair, only long enough to be certain that they were alone. He gave silent thanks for that mercy and a brief prayer that the couple had died quickly and not endured the violence that had been done to them. He noticed also the symbol that surrounded them. The familiar symbol of crescent moon and lightning bolt.

He turned away from the sight again, noticing the trail of blood leading across the tiling and up the stairs. They had died, been dragged, and then placed here. He could not continue into the library. Already he could feel waves of heat bombard him as the flames licked ever closer, dancing across the bookcases and nearing the kitchen.

"Robin!" he called urgently, coughing with each breath. "Robin!"

Where would she be? It crossed his mind that she might not be in the house at all. Whoever had done this might have taken her. But he had to look for her on the off chance that she was trapped in a burning house. She would die if he left her here. He didn't hear the sirens from the fire trucks yet, and the fire was spreading towards the kitchen, crawling closer to the staircase. The firemen would never make it in time.

He dashed up the stairs, forced back at the top by the flames down one hallway.

"Robin!"

Where would she go? Where would Alex go if he were trapped in a burning house after his parents had been murdered? Giles wasn't sure the layout of the second floor exactly, only where her room was and that of her parents, but he had only one option open to him at the moment: the hallway that was not currently on fire.

He leapt through the edge of the flames and stumbled down the hallway, falling to his knees and choking on the thick fog of smoke. He pressed his handkerchief closer to his mouth and nose, squinting ahead to the open doorways on either side of the hallway in front of him. Sweat beaded down his face, and he blinked to see clearly.

"Robin! Please answer me. I want to help. Let me know where you are."

The trail of blood continued on in front of him, leading straight to the room at the end of the hall. Her parents' master bedroom. He crawled along beside it, calling out to his daughter every few feet. He passed the bathroom on the left, an office on the right. He reached her bedroom beside her parents' room. He could see the flames licking up through her bedroom window, tasting her curtains and her walls and the little stuffed animals that rested on a shelf beside the windowsill.

"Robin!"

He started into her room, but stopped when he saw the little blood footprints. If he hadn't been kneeling on the floor to avoid the smoke, he might have missed them in his haste to reach her.

The first set of prints tracked through the thick trail of blood and left little barefoot shadows leading into her bedroom.

_Dear God, no_! Her prints came from the direction of the master bedroom and led into her own room. _She must have witnessed her parents' murder, and then ran into her own room after their bodies were dragged downstairs_.

He pushed aside the thought of what his daughter must have gone through: her terror and confusion and grief. He had to find her first, and the second set of bloody footprints would surely point the way. They crossed the blood trail left by her parents and went into the office opposite her bedroom.

He darted into the room, still staying low to avoid the worst of the smoke. Even then, he couldn't stop coughing.

"Robin!"

Still no answer. The little blood prints faded quickly as they trailed across the rose carpeting further into the office. He wasn't sure where she would have gone after entering the room. He checked under the computer desk and in the closet.

"Robin!"

Then he noticed the thin, straight crack in the wall beside the bookcase. He wedged his fingers into the space and pried open a half-door made of simple wood paneling. Behind lay a dark crawlspace too small for a grown man.

But just the right size for the three-year-old who huddled in the far corner.

Giles reached one arm in, but he was a good foot short of touching her.

"Robin, give me your hand."

She didn't move, just sat curled into a little ball, rocking and shivering. She watched him with wide, frightened eyes. Giles kept his hand outstretched to her, remaining very still and patient, even though his mind was screaming at him that he had to get her out of here _now_ before they both burned to death.

"I'm not going to hurt you. You're safe now."

He wedged himself farther into the opening, as far as he would fit, and still it only bought him inches. The dim moonlight barely penetrated the cramped crawlspace, illuminating just the outline of her features and glinting off her wide eyes.

"It was very smart of you to hide here where they couldn't find you. But it's time to come out now."

She just stared at him, not moving. Each second lowered both their chances of getting out alive.

"You remember me, don't you, Robin? I read you a story when I came to your house. We had a tea party with the Queen. You're safe now. I won't let anyone hurt you. Come on, luv, give me your hand."

Very slowly she uncurled one arm from its grip around her tucked up knees. Her hand tentatively drifted towards his.

"That's a good girl. Just a little more."

Her arm straightened and her fingers stretched to touch the tips of his own. Not quite close enough.

"Robin, please just come a little bit closer. I'll keep you safe. I promise."

She leaned forward slightly until her tiny hand slipped into his. Giles smiled and gave it a comforting squeeze before pulling the girl into his arms by their joined hands. She clung to his shirtfront immediately, burying her face into his neck and trembling against his chest. She had her stuffed rabbit clutched under one arm, and its fur tickled his cheek.

"Shhh... It's going to be okay," he soothed, rubbing her back as he unfolded himself from the crawlspace entrance. He turned back to the office. The smoke had gotten thicker in the short time it had taken him to retrieve Robin. They were both coughing. He pressed his handkerchief over her nose and mouth, and she squirmed away from the cloth.

"You won't cough so much if you breathe through this."

Her struggles ceased, and she let him hold the handkerchief over her face as he crossed to the door.

The fire had spread further down the hall, blocking their escape down the stairs. The heat was intense, and Robin began to cry. Giles shielded his daughter with his body as he skirted the edge of the flames and headed down the only path open to him: into the master bedroom.

He stooped to stay below as much of the smoke as he could, and he turned his head to cover his mouth and nose with his shirtsleeves. Even still, his eyes watered, and he coughed against the smoke insinuating itself down into his lungs. He would probably be hospitalized for smoke inhalation. But hopefully, if he got them out soon enough, Robin would not.

He saw the blood covering the bed, handprints on the wall above it. The McGregors had been alive through their ordeal. And Robin had likely seen the whole thing. She was still sobbing in his arms and trembling, and he tried to block her vision of the bloody bed. He made his way to the window and looked down on the front porch. Flames had reached the front of the house now as well, and were climbing the walls to this window. They couldn't go out and down. They certainly couldn't stay here. The only option was out and up, onto the roof.

He adjusted his grip on the girl and instructed her to wrap her arms around his neck and hold tight. She obeyed, still crying, still clutching the stuffed rabbit by its ear. He held her tight around the waist with one arm. His other opened the window and gained a solid grasp on its frame. He hauled himself out onto the ledge, looking up at the roof just above him. He would need both his hands to pull himself up.

"Robin, hold tight to my neck." He slowly released his grip from her waist, making sure she had him tight enough that she wouldn't fall. She had him tight enough that he could barely breathe. He reached up for the edge of the roof and gained purchase with both hands. He pulled at the same time that he swung his legs up and to the side. Solidly over the edge, he rolled onto his back and rested for a moment, Robin lying across his chest.

"You don't have to hold so tightly now, luv," he whispered, as he tried to ease her chokehold on his neck.

Giles stood, and Robin screamed. She began thrashing in his arms, and his balance on the sloping shingles was already precarious at best. Her frantic struggles sent him stumbling to his knees to keep from falling to the flames below.

"You have to stop that, Robin. Everything's going to be fine." She still didn't stop screaming or squirming in his arms, and he tried a less gentle, more parental approach. "Robin Deanna McGregor, stop that this instant!"

That didn't seem to work either. He twisted to the side to see what her hands were grasping for. She had dropped her stuffed rabbit on the roof behind them. He rescued the thing and returned it to her. She settled back down against his chest immediately.

"Well, that was easily fixed. Careful not to drop her again."

He stood once more, carefully picking his way along the perimeter of the roof, constantly watching over the side for a safe place to climb down. A few feet ahead of them, flames suddenly sprouted from the shingles. He turned around to backtrack, but the fire had followed them and closed off their path. He tried to see the driveway from where he was standing. Where were those damn fire trucks? It had to have been at least fifteen minutes since he entered the house. He looked down. A two-story drop might be painful, but it would not be life threatening, and they were rapidly running out of options.

He chose a spot that looked to be fairly flat and relatively free of foliage and was the furthest from the fire that he could get. He turned around and cradled Robin close to his chest, making sure her arms and legs were no longer wrapped around him, but instead tucked close to her body. With any luck he could drop to the ledge beneath the second story window before falling the remaining distance. He would rather try for a second jump to the first story ledge before dropping to the ground, but the flames had already climbed higher than that.

He knelt beside the edge of the roof and gripped the overhang with one hand as the other clutched Robin tightly to his chest. Slowly he lowered himself over and down, their combined weights too much for one arm to support.

He fell.

Ten feet from the roof to the first ledge, and the impact jarred up his legs even as he bent his knees to absorb some of the shock. He stumbled slightly, nearly toppling off before catching the window frame with one hand. He coughed against the smoke cloud they seemed to be standing in. He could feel the heat of the fire directly below them. Next stop: the ground. And this time he wouldn't be able to lower himself from the ledge first. They needed distance between them and the fire. This time Giles would have to jump.

He glanced over his shoulder. Less than ten feet left to fall, but the smoke formed a veil of mist below them. From Giles' perspective, it seemed as if they could fall through the haze forever.

He took a deep breath of acrid air and fought back the coughing impulse that stung the back of his throat. He bent his knees, and then pushed off with his feet, so he could put as much distance between them and the burning house as possible. Robin squeezed her eyes shut. If it were Alex, he would have taken it as an amusement park ride and begged to go again when they hit the ground.

That was the only thought he had time for before his back struck the ground. The impact knocked the wind out of him, and he couldn't breathe. He couldn't move either, and pain shot straight up his spine. He could feel the heat from the flames less than five feet away, but at the moment all he could concentrate on was trying to breathe. His mouth opened and closed, his attempts becoming more desperate, his hand massaging his chest, trying to force air into his lungs. His vision swam. He felt hands beneath his shoulders. Neighbors were dragging him back from the house. Robin was screaming. They couldn't pry her from his arms.

His first breath came like fire in his lungs. He rolled to the side and started coughing violently. He heard the sirens now and saw the indistinct blur of fire truck and ambulance. The neighbors were asking about Catherine and Shaun. He couldn't answer, could only focus on each breath between the coughing fits. A man in a white uniform knelt beside him and slipped an oxygen mask over his face. Another man tried to help Robin, but she would not loose her grip on Giles' coat. She screamed, and actually grabbed a fistful of his hair to hold her place. Giles lifted one hand to slide down the oxygen mask. He smiled at her softly. Breathing was somewhat easier, and he attempted speech.

"S'okay, Robin." He coughed again, and it burned the back of his throat. "They'll help you."

But she continued to cling to him for dear life and scream and cry. It was only because he was lying on the ground that he noticed the blood on the paramedic's shoes. A chill ran through him. He turned to the paramedic on the other side of him. Blood on his shoes as well.

He pulled Robin into his arms, holding her close to his chest. He slipped a crucifix from his coat pocket and simply rested it against her back as he held her. The paramedics took one look at it and slowly backed up, disappearing into the crowd.

"Where are they going?" one neighbor lady asked.

"Shouldn't they be taking them to the hospital?" The small group watched in bewilderment as the ambulance drove away without its patients.

"I can get there myself," Giles insisted, stiffly raising himself to his feet.

"I'll drive you," someone offered.

"No, no, I'll drive myself." He started coughing again, casting serious doubt on his ability to make it to the hospital on his own, but he was not about to trust anyone with his daughter's life. He limped to the car and belted her into the seat. She screamed and clawed frantically at the belt buckle until he was in the driver's seat beside her. He reached across and took her hand, and she was calm as long as he was touching her.

They made it to the hospital in incremental bits. He needed to pull to the side of the road for each coughing fit. Robin, thankfully, had stopped coughing as soon as they escaped the fire. And he had taken the brunt of the fall with his body, so she was relatively unharmed. Physically, at least. Her eyes were haunted, and she spoke not a single word the entire drive.

At one point, she started shivering in her thin nightgown, clutching her little stuffed rabbit tight to her chest. He pulled to the side of the road and removed his jacket, wrapping it around her. He was cold then, too, so he put up the top and turned on the heat. Her hair and face were greasy with smoke, her hands too, so he cringed when he saw her begin to suck on one dirty thumb.

The phone rang just as they pulled into the hospital parking lot. He turned off the ignition and answered it, still holding Robin by the hand to keep her calm.

"Giles? It's Angel." The vampire's voice sounded panicked, and Giles almost smiled, knowing what was coming next. "After we finished at the hospital, we went past Robin's house again. I don't know how to tell you this. I don't know what happened exactly, but-"

"There was a fire," Giles finished.

"Yes, and the firemen said they thought there were still people trapped inside."

"It's alright, Angel. I got Robin out of the house. She's with me, and we're at the hospital right now." He started coughing again, and it was a moment before he could continue. "The McGregors are both inside, but they're already dead. There's no one else."

"They can't go inside. The fire's too intense. They're trying to put it out."

"Assure them that there's no one left to save inside. That should make them feel better."

"What hospital are you at?"

Giles peered up at the sign and coughed again before answering. "Good Samaritan Hospital."

"Cordelia's in the neuropsych unit there."

"I'll be sure to pay her a visit." He started on another coughing fit, this one lasting nearly a full minute.

"Sounds like you should maybe go in there yourself, Giles." Angel signed off.

He unbuckled his daughter first and pulled her into his lap, rather than endure her screaming as he came around the car to get her. He walked into the ER, past a woman bleeding from a nasty gash on her forehead and a mother holding a screaming infant and a slightly drunk man with a large nail protruding from his hand. Off to another side were a trio of teenagers, each wearing a high school football jersey and watching down one hallway intently. The triage nurse seemed tired as she took his information and then pointed him to a chair he could wait in until a doctor was available.

* * *

For as much time as he spent in them, Giles really hated hospitals. He reclined against the back of the hospital bed, Robin's weight against his chest as she began to doze. The oxygen mask seemed to be helping his breathing, as did the medication they had made him inhale earlier, although it had sent him on a coughing fit that had lasted almost five minutes. They had given the same treatment to Robin as a precaution, but she didn't seem nearly as affected by the fire as he.

She had fought against the oxygen mask at first, and then screamed when they had tried to draw blood. She was overtired and cranky and terrified and traumatized, and from where Giles was sitting, her lungs had sounded quite healthy. He had leaned down close to her and had begun softly singing to his daughter, her crying stopped mid-wail as she turned watery eyes up to him in fascination. He had attempted to wipe away her tears, but only managed to make sooty smears across her cheeks.

Right now, Robin slept soundly in his arms, a peaceful, dreamless sleep for which Giles gave thanks. He could not risk sleep for himself, not while she was still in danger. Every figure that passed their door sent a jolt of primal fear, the most basic fight-or-flight instinct, straight up his spine. A stake and a cross in his jacket pocket, and he kept his hand always near to them.

He suspected he was not a favorite among the hospital staff at this moment. He had refused to change into a hospital gown or to allow them an examination of his back after his fall. He had refused the X-rays. In short, he had refused any treatment that would separate him from Robin for any length of time. The pediatrician, even, had to care for the girl while she sat in Giles' lap. He saw the looks they gave him as they passed outside his exam room, and he didn't care. Someone had tried to kill his daughter, had succeeded in murdering her adoptive parents and burning her house down while she was still inside, and had most likely killed the two paramedics they had impersonated just so they could snatch Robin from his grasp. Giles wasn't about to allow his daughter out of his sight for a moment. He wasn't about to give them another opportunity to hurt her.

He was impatient to leave. His breathing had improved, and Robin seemed unharmed. The doctor wanted to at least wait for the results of the blood tests, although he would rather keep them overnight for observation. But Giles could only imagine the two vampire paramedics hunting them down, and he didn't want to wait for anything, and he most certainly wasn't saying overnight. How hard could it be to find a man and a girl who had escaped from a fire? Giles wanted to go home _now_. They could receive the rest of their treatment at Sunnydale's own hospital.

The doctor returned, reading over something on a clipboard. The nurse followed in behind him. Giles hoped the blood tests were back and they could leave now. But when the doctor glanced up, his eyes were cold and stern, filled with more than his simple annoyance with a difficult patient. "We brought up Robin's medical file. It appears that you are not her father, Mr. Giles. Her grandparents have been contacted and are on their way. Social Services have also been alerted. I'm afraid you won't be allowed to leave with the girl."

Giles glanced down at the child in his arms. In spite of all the activity surrounding her, she remained sleeping, physically and emotionally exhausted. He tenderly brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, and then lowered his oxygen mask before answering the doctor's unspoken accusation. "I _am_ her father. She was stolen from us at birth, and we never consented to her adoption. We have been searching for her all this time." He raised his eyes and met the other man's gaze. "I have court documents. I can have my lawyer send them over."

The doctor mulled this over for a moment. It probably wasn't an everyday occurrence in the ER. A simple kidnapping would be the more logical explanation. Luckily for Giles, the police had already taken his statement, and the witnesses had corroborated the facts of his arrival on the scene _after_ the fire and his heroic rescue of the child from the burning house. It also helped that one of the officers had known Buffy from the Academy. If the McGregors' neighbors hadn't been so blessedly nosy, then Giles would probably already be in lockup on suspicion of setting the fire and murdering Robin's parents. But thankfully, the neighbor who had called for the fire trucks had also seen the perpetrators leave before Giles ever got there.

"Yes," the doctor finally replied, "we'll need you to do that before she can leave. And we'll need your permission to run a paternity test on the blood samples we've already taken from both of you."

"Of course."

"Fortunately, we have excellent lab facilities right here in the hospital." The doctor frowned. "Even so, it will take a few hours to run a DNA test, so you might as well let us have a look at your back, Mr. Giles."

"I'll pass, but thank you."

The doctor's jaw clenched slightly, and he turned on his heel. No, Giles most definitely wasn't a favorite among the staff.

As the doctor left, it didn't escape Giles' notice that there was now a security guard stationed outside the door. He sighed. He wouldn't be leaving any time soon after all. He wondered if the guard would at least discourage would-be attackers. Then again, they would likely be dressed as hospital staff and rouse no suspicion.

The nurse smiled at him kindly as she replaced the oxygen mask. Long, thick, raven black hair curled around her face, her nametag read "Carol H." and she at least seemed somewhat sympathetic to him. She nodded to the phone on the side table. "You can call your lawyer with that phone. No cells in the hospital. Just dial nine to get an outside line."

She left him to make his phone calls. First call to Buffy, and he needed to persuade her to stay in Sunnydale and wait for them. But she would take the day off of work; she couldn't be talked out of that. Dawn knew nothing; she would go to school as normal. It would be better to start Robin out with the least amount of people possible. Just Buffy hopefully at first, and then Alex would wake, and later Dawn would come home from school. One at a time Robin would accustom herself to the people who would now be part of her life.

The second call was to Thomas Stockwell, and he faxed the court documents to the ER with all due speed, sounding rather pleased that they had finally found their daughter, after he recovered from the annoyance of a nearly two in the morning wake up call.

The final call was to Angel's cell, but Wesley answered this time. He had said they were taking turns at Cordelia's bedside, but Giles wondered if the young man had yet left her side.

"Giles? Angel tells me you're at Good Samaritan as well."

"Yes, in the ER. How is Cordelia?"

Giles could hear the concern in the other man's voice, even as he tried to couch his words in the most optimistic way possible. "The visions seemed to have stopped. She hasn't regained consciousness yet, but the staff are still trying to keep her sedated. Sleep is probably what she needs most right now."

Giles nodded thoughtfully, even though the man at the other end wouldn't see it. "Angel and the others?"

"They've gone out patrolling again. They were unfortunately unable to save the babies from the hospital nursery. The vampires got there first." A deep sigh. "The visions Cordelia was sent are rather pointless if she cannot tell us what she saw. We cannot stop them if we don't know what we are trying to stop until it is too late."

Giles didn't need to be in the same room with the man to imagine the frustration etched into Wesley's face. He could hear it in the other man's voice as clear as his underlying fear for Cordelia's well being. "Cordelia will be fine, Wesley. And you have all done everything you can do. The Powers can ask no more of you than that."

There was a long silence. "Thank you for that. And at least your daughter is safe. We can be grateful for that mercy."

Giles looked up as Carol entered his room, clutching a small bundle close to her chest. He signed off with Wesley, promising he would stop by before leaving for Sunnydale.

"I thought these might fit Robin. We get donated clothes and stuff sometimes. Well, I just thought you both might like to clean the smoke off while you're waiting. There's a full bath down the hall you can use. Sorry, no shoes, though. She'll have to go barefoot."

He took the small stack of clothing. "Thank you. These are appreciated."

The nurse smiled at him warmly as she tucked one long strand of black hair behind her ear. She led him to a room down the hall, the security guard also shadowing them five steps behind.

"Do you need a hand?"

"I'll manage," he answered with a smile, before shutting the bathroom door.

He sat on the edge of the tub and started the bath. He wasn't eager to wake the child in his arms, but neither did he want to leave the residue of her ordeal on her any longer than necessary. It could only serve to remind her and conspire to rob her of her sense of security. He wanted his child to feel like a normal little girl again, and a bath was a good place to start.

He dipped his hands in the warm water and began to wash the dried blood from the bottoms of her feet where they dangled over the tub. He wanted to clean her parents' blood from her body before she woke. He wished he could just as easily wash the memory of their murder from her mind.

She stirred as she felt the water on her feet. She blinked up at him and rubbed at her eyes with one fist. Giles smiled. "What do you say we clean you up? How does a bath sound?"

She pointed one finger to the toilet behind them.

He knelt on the bathroom tile as he dried off her feet so she wouldn't slip. "Do you need help?"

She shook her head and handed him her stuffed toy before climbing on the toilet. He turned away, slightly embarrassed. He wasn't accustomed to caring for a little girl yet, and he wondered how awkward he would feel bathing her. Even turned away from her, she still held onto him by the collar of his shirt, as if by letting go of him she might lose him. He could empathize with that feeling.

She finished, and flushed, and tugged for him to help her up to the sink.

"You're going to take a bath in a minute anyway."

But she insisted, and he helped her wash her hands, marveling at how her parents had managed to teach her better habits than they had accomplished with Alex so far.

He stripped off her nightgown, laid the rabbit safely out of the splash zone, and set her in the tub. It wasn't nearly as bad as he had feared it might be. It was almost the same as bathing Alex. Except Giles didn't know what to do about her long hair. He tried the shampoo, but the suds dripped in her eyes, and she started crying. He felt terrible as he washed her face and tried to soothe her. Just a few hours in his care, and he was already making a mess of it.

"Don't cry, Robin," he murmured. "The bottle says 'tearless.' How was I supposed to know? I'll be more careful. I promise."

She settled down after a few moments, and he was able to rinse her hair without further incident. He examined her closely: pink and rosy, without a trace of soot left. Which was more than he could say about himself. Robin seemed to have a remedy to this problem and began to splash him quite enthusiastically. He held up his hands to stop her, but she was smiling, and it was the first time he had seen her smile since pulling her from the house. So he splashed back, hoping for a little girl's giggle, but having to content himself with her smile, because her laughter was not forthcoming.

When they had emptied enough of the tub onto the floor, Giles finally ended their war and pulled her out of the tub and into a dry towel. She still hadn't spoken, and it was beginning to worry him. So he sat her up on the counter beside the sink and tried to engage her in conversation.

"Would you like the pink shirt or the blue?"

She pointed to the pink, but he tried to get her to say it. "I'm sorry, which one?"

She shook her finger at the pink one, her face screwing up in frustration, and he could see a tantrum coming. So he just gave up and dressed her. Pink shirt and little blue jean coveralls that were just a tad too big. The nurse had left a comb, which he tried to run through her wet hair, but he was terribly clumsy with it. He kept pulling her hair, and she would whimper and hold onto her scalp with both hands, which made it even more difficult to accomplish. And to think, Giles had once had even longer hair himself. But he couldn't remember it being this difficult to care for. He eventually admitted defeat. What did he care if her hair was tangled? At least she was clean and dressed.

He fixed himself up a little as long as they were there. He rolled up his shirtsleeves and washed his hands and arms and face in the sink. Robin watched him quietly, and then reached out to touch his Eyghon tattoo in the bend of his elbow. He smiled. Alex had been curious about it too.

He touched her finger with his as she traced the outline of the symbol. "It reminds me that I can make mistakes sometimes."

She looked at him with wide somber eyes. Giles dried his arms and face. She was too young to understand. He scooped her up, and she started to whine and squirm as he moved to leave. Her hands were reaching out, clenching and unclenching in desperation. He turned to see what she wanted and spied the little stuffed rabbit still sitting on the ground.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to forget her." He retrieved the slightly wet toy and passed it over. Robin clutched the toy like a life preserver and quieted down against his chest immediately. Giles took one last look around the bathroom to see if they had forgotten anything else. They had definitely made a mess. That was the one perk to a hospital bathroom, he supposed, that he didn't have to clean it.

He returned to their room, the guard following them back and resuming his station outside their door. The nurse saw them as they passed and joined them a few moments later.

"Wow, looks like there was a real pretty girl under all that dirt." Carol smiled at Robin, but the girl ducked her head into Giles' chest. "Looks like Daddy could use a little help with your hair. May I?" she asked him as she reached for the comb.

"By all means."

Giles sat at the edge of the hospital bed as Carol gently combed through Robin's golden tresses. The child seemed frightened at first, digging her hands into the front of his shirt, but she relaxed after a few moments, after she realized the woman was not going to take her from his arms.

"Never had a girl before?"

It didn't seem so much a question as a conclusion, but he answered her anyway. "She's my only daughter. I have a son at home, but..."

"Yes, well, you want to start at the bottom and work your way up. That way you can hold on above where you're combing and not pull on her hair. And a little conditioner or detangler wouldn't hurt either." Carol smiled as she finished. Robin's hair was softly curling as it dried. "Don't you just have the prettiest curls? You're going to have the men lined up for you."

Giles groaned. "Yes, in the far, far future."

Carol laughed. "How about a nice braid to keep it neat?" In less than a minute she had expertly woven the long gold curls into a lovely French braid. She pulled a rubber band from her pocket and tied off the ends.

"You must have a girl of your own. You're quite experienced at this."

"Two actually. But mine are a little more rambunctious. She seems like such a quiet little thing."

Giles sighed and glanced down at his daughter, so timid and withdrawn now. "She didn't used to be. I wish I could get her to talk."

Carol tenderly stroked her hand across Robin's face, and then met Giles' eyes with a kind smile. "Kids are amazingly resilient. She'll bounce back. You'll see. All she needs is a little love and patience. And maybe one of these," she added, pulling a lime green lollipop from her uniform pocket.

Robin refused the treat.

"How about a red one?"

She twisted her hands tighter into Giles' shirt and turned her head away. He frowned and kissed the crown of her head, his heart breaking for his child's grief. He had wanted to shield her from death and vampires and demons, but he had only ended up abandoning her to face those things alone. And now her parents were dead, and there was nothing he could do to protect her from the pain of that.

Their doctor entered at that moment, carrying a clipboard. "Well, Mr. Giles, it seems you were right. Your lawyer sent us the documents, and the blood tests came back. To a ninety-nine point nine percent accuracy, you are Robin's father, and you do have a legal claim to her. I must sincerely apologize for doubting you, but it did seem like such an outrageous story."

"I understand."

"I must admit: I called a friend at the precinct to check up on your claim. I was quite skeptical, and well... anyone could have faxed us those papers. But he found the police report from three years ago and verified the judge's rulings that your lawyer sent us. Plus, it seems there's a pending lawsuit against the adoption agency. So... stolen baby." The doctor shook his head. "Again, my deepest apologies, but it just seemed like something out of a movie-of-the-week. Social Services say I should let you take her, as the adoption was illegal and is now invalidated, making you her legal guardian now. In any case, we can't keep you from leaving with her, although you should know that her adoptive grandparents will be here soon. And no matter what your court orders say, they'll probably want to fight you for custody."

Giles nodded, not wanting to deal with them at this moment. "I'll contact them later. Right now I just need to get home."

"Well, the blood work shows a clean bill of health for Robin. I'd like you to go in for a follow-up with your own doctor and have some X-rays taken, but I think I already know how likely that is."

"You're beginning to sound like my wife," Giles complained as he signed the release forms. He noticed the doctor had written AMA on his papers with the X-ray circled beside it. "Now where's the neuropsych unit?"

The doctor gave him a puzzled look.

"I want to check on a friend."

"Third floor."

He thanked the nurse Carol as he left, and he would have thanked the doctor too, but the man had already moved onto the next patient. Almost five in the morning, and the ER waiting room was still half full. Such was life in LA, he imagined. There were several drunks, a few homeless people who were most likely looking for beds rather than medical attention. A woman who was probably a prostitute, pressing her hand to a bleeding wound on her neck. Giles imagined she had found a vampire rather than a human in her bed, but somehow she had managed to survive the encounter. The high schoolers from before were still waiting and watching down the same hallway, except now their numbers had increased. It seemed as if the entire football team were waiting for news of some kind, and some of them were crying.

The neuropsych unit was quiet in contrast. The nurse at the front desk glanced up as he passed, but made no move to stop him. She had probably gotten used to people coming and going from Cordelia's room and had given up on enforcing visiting hours.

Cordelia was alert when he entered, only Wesley at her side. She smiled weakly, her head resting back against her pillow. But she managed to muster up some of that patented Cordelia spunk as she took in the sight of the little girl in his arms.

"Giles, you brought me a present. Isn't she just the cutest thing?" Cordelia reached a hand over to tickle Robin's feet, but the girl jerked them away and tucked them tighter beneath her. "Cranky! I think you should get a refund."

Giles shifted his daughter's weight in his arms. "She's had a trying day."

Cordelia sighed and closed her eyes. "I know how you feel, kiddo."

Wesley was sitting on the other side of Cordelia, holding her hand. "I am very glad you were able to get her out in time. And I am sorry we were not there for her sooner."

"I understand," Giles told them, and he truly did. "My concerns were unsubstantiated, and Angel did check on her as often as he could. Besides which, you had Cordelia's very real visions to attend to."

"We couldn't save the babies," Cordelia murmured softly, and Wesley returned his attention to her. He lifted her hand tenderly to his lips. She was barely holding back the tears. "We couldn't save any of them. The visions just kept coming and coming, and they didn't let up long enough for me to tell anyone anything. I saw so many of them: women and girls and babies, and they were all being killed. There were just too many of them in too many different places."

The two men grew very quiet, and Wesley stroked her softly along the length of her arm. She turned dark, weary eyes towards Giles. "I felt something in each of them, Giles, in my visions. I think... I may be wrong, but...I think they were all mini-slayers like Robin. You know, with the potential or whatever."

He shared a glance with the ex-Watcher. Someone targeting potential slayers on that kind of scale was unprecedented. It chilled him to the very core.

"I'll speak with the Council," Giles assured them.

Cordelia smiled faintly and licked her lips. "I don't mean to be Miss Rude-Get-Out-of-My-Room, but could ya get out of my room? I'm beat."

Giles smiled and reached out to give her shoulder a friendly squeeze before stepping out into the hallway. Wesley was standing, moving to follow him, first bending to place a kiss on Cordelia's forehead.

They softly shut the door behind them.

"If they're targeting potential slayers, then Robin is still in danger," Wesley whispered softly, glancing up and down the hallway to make sure their conversation would be private.

"Yes, that is why I am rather eager to return to Sunnydale."

"Will you need an escort? Protection?"

Giles considered for a moment, but Angel Investigations had enough problems of its own to worry about at the moment, and he had a Slayer at home who could offer better protection than any of them. "No. But if Cordelia remembers anything from her visions, any clue about who might have done this, you will call me?"

"Of course."

He said goodbye to the ex-Watcher and left the hospital at five thirty in the morning, while it was still dark out. Robin had fallen asleep in his arms again during their visit to the neuropsych unit, and he held her tightly against his chest, his cheek pressed to the top of her head. The possibility of anything happening to her burned his lungs and stole his breath more cruelly than the smoke inhalation ever could. And he didn't even want to consider what might have happened to her had he not heeded Alex's warnings, had he made it there even ten minutes later.

He may have refused Wesley's offer of an escort, but he wasn't above asking a security guard to walk them to his car, not wanting to present too tempting a target to any vampires that may be laying in wait for them. And Robin remained asleep even as he buckled her in.

He drove past sunrise before stopping for gas. Robin woke slightly while he was standing at the pump and panicked when she didn't see him. It took him five minutes to calm her. She was trembling and sobbing long past when the pump had shut off. There was a side diner attached to the station, and he took her inside to feed her and settle her down before continuing on to Sunnydale. It wouldn't do for Buffy to meet the girl while she was still so upset.

But Robin wouldn't eat. She wouldn't drink either. Giles wasn't sure what she might like, so he kept ordering things, one after another, but she refused them all. Eggs, cereal, pancakes with syrup, he even tried chocolate cake. What child could resist cake? Buffy would never let him live it down if she knew he was trying to tempt their child with dessert for breakfast, but he just wanted her to eat _something_.

She reached for the fork, and he let her have it. Maybe she just needed to feed herself. She stabbed herself a bite of pancake, but she turned in his lap and tried to feed it to him instead. He accepted the mouthful and insisted that the next bite would be for her. But Robin only seemed interested in feeding him. After twenty minutes, he gave up on the idea of getting any breakfast in her. Nor any water, or milk, or orange juice, or even soda. Not even the twisty straw the waitress brought made any of them appealing to her.

He buckled her in the car, and she snuggled up against her stuffed bunny, one hand holding tight to the cuff of his shirt. She fell asleep again before they even merged back onto the highway. Not surprising, since she had spent half the night awake. He was tired as well, but they were only a half hour from home.

Buffy came out to meet them as they pulled into the drive. She had probably been waiting at the window for hours. Robin didn't stir when he pulled her from the car, so she didn't protest when he handed her over to her mother.

"Oh my God," Buffy whispered, touching the soft cheeks resting against her shoulder, running her hand along the braid down the back, tracing the outline of fingers that held firmly to a little stuffed rabbit.

"Let's go inside," Giles murmured, ushering her up the steps. "Dawn?"

"At school." Buffy never looked away from the sight of her daughter. "I can't believe it's really her. I feel like I'm dreaming."

"Alex?"

"Sleeping. I kept him up late after I got your note. I figure he should sleep in for a while. Look at the way her forehead crinkles up while she's sleeping. You do that."

"Do I?" he asked with a kiss on her cheek.

She turned to him, perhaps seeing him for the first time. "God, you're filthy."

Giles chuckled. "But alive. It's refreshing to know you are so overjoyed to have me back in one piece."

"That's not what... You know I'm happy you're okay... Just go up and shower." She gave him a shove towards the stairs. "Wash the smoke and dirt off you and change your clothes. You smell like Spike's crypt."

"In that case, I'll be eager to do so."

She laughed as he started up the stairs. "Grass stains on the back of your jacket? Rupert Giles, have you been having midnight trysts in the park without me?"

He flashed her a wicked smile. She was teasing him. That had to mean at least the beginnings of forgiveness. "Now where would the fun in that be?" he answered.

He grabbed some clean clothes from the bedroom before starting his shower. It felt blissful to wash away the layer of grime left by the fire. And relaxing. He hoped Buffy hadn't been counting on his company, because he was starting to feel really tired. With any luck, he could sleep all morning.

He was just toweling off, when he heard Robin start screaming. He threw on his clothes as quickly as possible. He heard her little fists pounding on the bathroom door and Buffy's voice trying to calm her. She practically fell into his arms when he opened the door. Little feet stomping on the ground as little hands attempted to climb up his body.

"Shhh," he soothed, scooping her up and gently swaying with her. "Everything's alright. I'm right here." Her tears slowed to little hiccupy sighs, as she slowly relaxed in his arms. "This is Buffy, Robin. She's been waiting to meet you for a very long time."

But the little girl only wrapped her arms tighter around his neck and turned her head into his chest.

Robin wanted nothing to do with Buffy.

Next: Part 6: The Last Slayer


	6. The Last Slayer

ORIGINALLY POSTED: October 18, 2001  
TITLE: The Family Business  
AUTHOR: JK Philips  
RATING: PG  
SUMMARY: After the events of The Ticking Clock, Buffy and Giles are still looking for their  
daughter. Can they save her from a terrible fate?  
SPOILERS: Everything up to "The Gift"  
DISCLAIMER: I do not own these characters; they are the property of Joss Whedon,  
Mutant Enemy & Fox. I simply am doing this for fun, and non-profit use.

* * *

Part 6: The Last Slayer

Shortly before sunrise, two men in leather coats entered through the emergency doors of Good Samaritan hospital. To the best of their knowledge, only one potential slayer had survived, and they had tracked her to there. The first man took a seat in the waiting room, opening his laptop and turning it in the direction of the admissions desk. The second man approached the triage nurse and asked after a friend. When she failed to find the name in the computer, she left her desk to ask a doctor. He took that opportunity to rifle through the patient charts. He found one Rupert Giles and one Robin McGregor. He ripped the pages from the clipboards and stuffed them in his pockets. Facing his accomplice with the laptop, he waited for the signal. A nod of the head, and they were both walking out of the hospital, before the triage nurse could even return and tell them their friend was not a patient here. Before the first rays of daylight could even touch the pavement.

* * *

Buffy sensed his presence, but she didn't look up. "She hates me."

She felt the couch move as he sat beside her, but she didn't uncurl from her remarkable impression of a threatened armadillo.

"She doesn't hate you."

She sniffled slightly. "Yeah, right. She scream in mortal fear when you try to pick her up?"

His hand attempted to brush back her curtain of hair, so he could see her face. She merely tucked her head further into the cushions. He sighed and let his hand drift down to rub her back in slow circles.

"She witnessed her parents' murders," Giles whispered. "Very violent murders. By some rather frightening creatures, I imagine. Her house burned down, and she barely escaped from the fire. Now she's in a strange place with people she doesn't know. She's only three years old, Buffy. This is a lot for her to cope with."

"She doesn't hate _you_," Buffy replied petulantly.

"She saw me once before. And I saved her from the fire. She's just latching on to something familiar, to one person she feels she can trust. She'll learn to trust you, too. Just be patient."

Buffy bit her lip not to cry. She was tired of crying. She felt like she had spent the last three days crying. "It's not fair. I've waited so long, and now she's finally here… Giles, you don't know how scared I was that we wouldn't find her, not before… scared that I would never know her, that she would never know me. And now she's here, but I'm shut out. What if she never lets me in?"

She felt his arms slide under hers as he curled his long frame around her. He held her tightly as she cried, not saying anything. Her tears dried up after a minute or so. She had cried so much lately that the proverbial well had run dry. She wiped her cheeks with the back of her hands and nudged Giles off her back. She slowly sat up, her knees still drawn close to her chest. She glanced over at her watcher, sitting beside her, one arm draped across the back of the couch, watching her intently.

"She sleeping?"

Giles nodded.

"And Alex?"

The slightest ghost of a smile. "I think you did a rather good job keeping him up. He curled up beside her and immediately fell back to sleep."

Buffy rose from the couch and crossed to the little desk, where she began nervously fidgeting with a stack of papers. Yeah, like these bills had to be paid right now, and these store flyers were oh so interesting. "You look kinda tired," she said. "Maybe you should go sleep, too. I'll just… you know… get some stuff done around the house."

She heard his footsteps behind her and shrugged off the hand he laid on her shoulder. She couldn't help it. She was still angry with him. She thought it would all go away when he brought Robin home, but she only felt worse. She knew it was stupid and childish and not true, but she felt like he had stolen Robin from her and made her all his. Maybe he hadn't done it on purpose, but their daughter wanted only him.

Giles didn't press her, didn't try to touch her again, just walked past her and up the stairs. Buffy pulled Robin's photo from her front pocket and stared at it, just as she had for the hours she spent waiting for their return from LA. She curled up on the couch once more and fell asleep herself.

* * *

Joseph sat back in his leather chair, steepling his fingers before him. It may have only been a dirty office in a run down warehouse, but he had splurged on a conference table and nice chairs. One could hardly be expected to conduct negotiations over packing crates and folding chairs.

Sabrina sat on the other side of the rich mahogany table, drumming her hands on the surface. She didn't do calm so easily.

Joseph himself had no reason to be calm. His plan, so brilliantly designed and expertly implemented, had somehow failed. There was still one potential slayer left, and that was one too many. The two minions who had missed her, the idiots who couldn't find one small child in one not so large house, well they had been dealt with. She had survived the fire, and they hadn't even bothered to track her to the hospital. It would be a trap, they insisted. The man who saved her knew of their kind and would be prepared for them. Cowards. They were dust now, slayed by Joseph's own hand right in front of the next two minions he sent looking for her. Her trail disappeared at Good Samaritan hospital. The man had taken her there, but there was no record of either of them, no clue where they might have gone after being released. He didn't even know the man's name.

Joseph had no reason to be calm except years of practice in the courtroom. Sabrina could give him the last slayer. She had the upper hand here. But she would never know that. Joseph's cool demeanor would allow him to remain in control. That and the sword.

"I held up my end of the bargain. The spell showed you every last one."

Joseph tilted his head in acknowledgment. "But there is still one left alive."

"That is hardly my fault." She stood and began to pace the small confines of his office. The conference table left very little room to spare. "If you couldn't get her, you can hardly blame me. I want my sword. I'm done with waiting."

He shook one finger. "I said you would get your payment after the spell was finished-"

"Which it is!"

"-_and_ the slayers were all dead." He withdrew a small tape recorder from his suit pocket and replayed that portion of their discussion. If he wasn't going to get a written contract, if he was going to have to go on verbal agreements, then he would at least have some record of them. "There is still one alive. Until she is dead, we don't have a deal."

"So what am I supposed to do about it?"

He tucked the tape recorder back in his pocket. It was recording again, but she failed to notice. "Re-do the spell and find her. After she is dead, you will have your prize."

Sabrina brushed one hand through her short, brunette waves. The corners of her mouth began to twitch, and she sat on her knees on the chair across from him. "Just one left? I have a much better plan for you. Why should you completely eliminate the power of the slayer?"

He laughed dryly. "Could it be because the Slayer exists for the sole purpose of making sure we don't? That seems like a pretty convincing reason to me."

"Only because she is trained to. One potential slayer left. Kill the Slayer, and she is Called. The girl is young and can still be corrupted. Take her. Train her. Raise her to be _our_ Slayer, not theirs. That will be a prize that will buy you your partnership. With a Slayer of your own, you won't need to go crawling to Wolfram and Hart; they'll be begging _you_ to come back."

He steepled his fingers again and tapped them on his mouth. "An interesting idea, but it lacks long-term vision. If we don't finish them off now, we'll have to contend with more slayers after this one is dead."

Sabrina shrugged. "The Watchers do it. How hard can it be?"

His brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"C'mon, Joseph, you have resources. You have money. You managed to organize a one-night campaign to eliminate all the potential slayers across the whole world. And you very nearly succeeded, with only one left alive. Why don't you come up with a little long-term vision here yourself? Why limit yourself to third chair in someone else's orchestra when you can be conducting the whole symphony?"

"You mean take over Wolfram and Hart?"

She rolled her eyes. "I mean forget about Wolfram and Hart. I'm talking about making your own Council. A Council of… of… of Killers. Yeah. You can find and train the slayers just as easily as the Watchers can."

She climbed off her chair and over the conference table, leaning close to him, her forehead mere inches from his. Her voice became low and sultry. "I know what it's like to never measure up, to always follow in someone else's footsteps. You must have gotten that a lot, huh? Daddy was a legend, wasn't he? And you always fell short in everyone's eyes. But I also know what's it's like to break free of that legacy, to set my own goals and exceed everyone's expectations. And let me tell you, it's a rush like nothing else. You do this, and when they talk about your dear old dad, they'll be saying: 'Yeah, isn't he Joseph Zalk's father?'"

Joseph stood from his chair abruptly and pivoted away from her. If he had a window, he would have strode over to it and stared out through the glass. As a vampire, having an office with a window was not a perk. So he merely studied the certificates he had hung on the wall. His undergraduate degree from Harvard. His law degree from the same. His license to practice in the state of California. He felt her eyes on the back of his head and smiled.

"Save your mind games for someone else, Sabrina. You can pull whatever you like from my head, but you can't use it to influence me. I'm not human, remember?" He spun to face her, and she was sitting cross-legged on the tabletop. On his beautiful, expensive, mahogany conference table tabletop. He scowled and ushered her off into a proper chair. "So what's in it for you, my dear? Why so eager for me to start my own slayer training academy?"

She studied him for a moment before answering, perhaps trying to decide if she should tell the truth. "I need 280."

"Come again?"

"After you give me the sword, I need 280. Your men drew the symbol around each of their kills, and there's the four I killed before they could run away from our happy family. But there weren't nearly enough with enough power to get even close to 280."

"So you want my slayer to land you your quota?" Joseph noticed that he had already begun using the phrase "my slayer." Whatever ulterior motives Sabrina had for her suggestion, it was a very good plan, and it was beginning to appeal to him. "She's just a child. It will be years before she'll be ready to send hunting."

Sabrina began absently twirling a pencil on the table. Of course, she wasn't actually touching it. It was just twirling on its own about an inch above the wood surface. "That's not what I meant at all. I have another idea. And I think it might be to our mutual benefit to work together."

Joseph returned to his seat across from her. He laid his hands casually on the smooth mahogany. A proper table to conduct negotiations at indeed. And he was thankful to have the recorder still running. "Ok, Sabrina, I'm listening."

* * *

A rhythmic prodding of his sides woke Giles from a deep sleep. He cracked one eye open slightly to see Alex kneeling beside him on the bed, smiling innocently as he poked his father in the ribs.

Giles turned his head slightly. Robin had adopted a matching stance on his other side and a similar cherubic expression as she engaged in the same activity. He took a deep breath, opened his eyes fully, and grabbed them each by their hands before they could continue.

Alex squealed, but Robin only laid her head on his shoulder.

"Dear Lord," he groaned. "You two couldn't possibly have gotten enough sleep."

"Mommy sleep," Alex informed him as he pounced on his father's chest.

Giles flinched at the impact and grimaced slightly as the jolt of pain up his spine reminded him of the fall he had taken the night before. "Yes, I envy her that right now. I'm also kicking myself for teaching you never to wake her."

"Eggs," the boy demanded as he leaned over to give little Eskimo kisses, nose to nose. Dawn must have taught him that.

"I suppose I can't starve you. Come on, then, race you downstairs."

Alex jumped off the bed and bounded out of the bedroom. Why did children always fall for that? Like Giles had any intention of racing anywhere right now. He pulled himself stiffly out of bed, the bruises and soreness kicking in now that he'd gotten some rest.

"Come along, Robin. You need to eat something, too." He held his hand out to her, but she wasn't satisfied with that. She took his hand and reached up her other to clutch his shirt. She tried to pull herself into his arms. He lifted her from the bed and set her on the floor. "Now, I know you are fully capable of walking by yourself."

She whined desperately, bouncing on her feet with her arms raised to him. He sighed and picked her up, his back protesting slightly as he did. He carried her downstairs where Alex was waiting for him in the kitchen. Buffy still slept on the couch. He would let her sleep for now.

"Up," Alex demanded, tugging on one pant leg.

Giles ruffled the child's hair fondly. "I've only two hands, son. If I carry you both, I won't be able to cook breakfast."

Alex stomped out of the kitchen to sulk. Ah well, there were the beginnings of sibling rivalry. Giles made eggs and toast and tried to encourage his daughter to talk. She only watched him work quietly, her fingers wound into the fabric of his nightshirt. He called Alex to come eat, and the boy came, towing his mother in behind him.

"Good morning," Giles greeted his wife.

She wiped the sleep from her eyes and yawned. "Morning." But her gaze didn't so much as touch on him; she focused entirely on the little girl in his arms. "Hey, Robin."

The child buried her face in his neck, and Buffy dropped her eyes to the island counter beside her.

"She won't talk for me either," Giles said, hoping to lessen the sting.

Buffy sat on a stool and pulled Alex into her lap. "You love me, don't ya, little Rabbit?"

Alex grinned and gave her an enthusiastic kiss on the cheek. "Park?" he asked.

She laughed. "You think every time Mommy's home she should take you to the park, don't ya?"

"Go swing," Alex said happily as he reached for the eggs his father had just placed before him.

Giles cringed as the boy began eating with his fingers. He slid a fork closer to the child. "Manners, Alex. We don't eat with our fingers."

Buffy pulled her plate in front of her and defiantly took a handful of eggs.

"Yes, very good, Buffy," Giles muttered. "At least I know where he got his disobedient streak."

Alex glanced back and forth between his mother and father. He picked up his fork and speared a mouthful of eggs, watching his father expectantly. Giles smiled, and Alex shoved the bite in his mouth, spilling less than half in his lap. His mother had picked up her fork too, and Alex asked again. "Go park? Monkey bar. Robin see-saw."

Buffy squeezed him really tight and gave him kisses in his ear until he was wiggling and giggling in her arms. "So you finally have someone your own size to put at the other end of the see-saw, huh? Yeah, I don't blame you. Daddy always cheats and never lets you down."

Giles blushed and ducked his head slightly to focus on Robin. She wouldn't eat again today, and it was beginning to concern him. He gave her the fork, but she only wanted to feed him, like she had at the diner. He took the implement back and tried again, but she turned her head away every time he brought the food close. Her hand lashed out finally, dumping the eggs in his lap.

"Please, Robin. Two bites. Look, Alex ate all his eggs."

"Maybe she doesn't like eggs," Buffy said.

"I stopped for breakfast this morning." He glanced at the clock. "Well, less than four hours ago, I guess. I ordered everything on the bloody menu, but she wouldn't touch it." His voice grew softer. "Even cake."

She laughed and choked on her orange juice. "Cake? You tried to bribe our kid with cake? Okay, you are _sooo_ not allowed to give me the 'he shouldn't have ice cream before dinner' lecture again."

He rolled his eyes and tried to tempt the girl with another forkful, but she turned her head at the last moment, and the eggs only ended in his lap again.

"Cake?" Alex asked eagerly.

"No you may not have cake," Giles replied, still attempting to put food in his daughter's stomach.

"Try the airplane," Buffy suggested.

"Pardon?"

"You know. The stock parenting trick. Mom used to do it with Dawn all the time. Zoom, zoom, the airplane's coming into the hanger, open up." She demonstrated with her own fork, zipping it around in the air in front of her.

He sighed. "Buffy, I'm firmly convinced that the reason most Americans are morons is that they're taught to be so from a young age. Now, she will either eat or she won't, but me making a fool of myself is not likely to sway her decision."

Buffy shrugged. "Suit yourself. But I'm telling you, it would work."

Buffy did take Alex to the park after breakfast, seeming somewhat disappointed that Giles and Robin didn't go too. But he had research to do, and Robin would not go without him. She also wouldn't allow him to set her down, which made research rather more difficult. The books had illustrations he would prefer she didn't see, especially after the previous evening's events, but he couldn't interest her in an activity of her own. She seemed firmly convinced that he was about to read to her from the old volumes in his lap and wasn't about to be distracted.

Finally, he turned on the television and between soap operas and cooking shows, was able to find some children's programming that captured her attention. Something with a purple dinosaur to which they had thankfully managed to avoid introducing Alex. Eventually, she allowed him to slide her onto the floor between his knees. At one point in time, he was even able to sneak off to the bathroom and then into the bedroom to dress. That didn't last long, though, because the moment she noticed his absence, she was pounding on his door and crying. So when he resumed his research downstairs and again placed her between his knees, she wound one arm around his leg to keep him with her.

He started with the books on the sword of Camela, since that had been the symbol found beneath her parents' murdered bodies, picking up at the passage he had left off at the day before. He occasionally tried reaching the Council, but the lines were either busy and he couldn't get through, or they rang and no one answered. If potential slayers the world over had been attacked, then the Council was likely very busy.

He tried Robin's grandparents once as well, reasoning that maybe it would help Robin to see them. But no one answered at the number the hospital had given him, and Giles was beginning to feel uneasy about the fact that they had not contacted him yet regarding their adoptive granddaughter.

So he read, but could find no connection between the sword of Camela and the attacks on potential slayers.

_And the mighty sorceress Camela was felled by her enemies. Left for dead on the field of battle, she called to her side her faithful servant, the Mortog beast. Cradled in the arms of the Beast, she placed its claws on the hilt of the blade that pierced her heart._

_"Take of mine blood and mine gifts. For you shall avenge me, and you shall have of the power of each that you slay in my name. Ten for each night of the moon shall you take. The last shall I strike down from the very heavens themselves. Thus in blood and fire shall this blade be blessed that whoever shall bear it will command the power of the slain. And so we shall become our enemies, and we shall use their own power to defeat them."_

_With her dying breath, the mighty sorceress wove her last spell into her enemy's blade, and the Beast removed the sword of Camela from its mortal sheath. Branded into the blade by blood and magic, the mark of crescent moon and lightning bolt gave proof of her promise._

_Armed with the power of the sorceress and the sword forged by her death, the Mortog beast stalked its prey for century upon century and snuffed out the bloodlines of each who had stood against them. Careful to take only the most powerful in her name, the Beast counted nine and two hundred slaughtered. But it would take no more. For the mighty sword of Camela was stolen from the Beast's grasp by one who had learned of its power. And so it has been found and lost many times over, its power claimed and squandered by a succession of demons and mortals alike. And for three thousand years, the Mortog beast has never stopped searching for the key to the power it was promised._

Giles startled as a tiny hand suddenly tugged on his own. Translating from Arabic, which was poorly translated from Sanskrit, was not his forte and required all of his attention as well as frequent dips into the dictionary. He realized as his daughter tugged on his hand that someone was knocking at his door. He had been too absorbed in his work to even notice.

He scooped her up into his arms without a second thought, knowing she would quickly protest if he didn't. And yet, as he approached the door, she began to tremble against him. He stopped in the foyer, holding her tightly and swaying gently as he whispered in her ear.

"Shhh… You're safe here, Robin. I won't let anyone hurt you."

She seemed to relax a little, but her fingers still held the front of his pullover in a desperate grip of fabric and chest hair. Giles pressed a kiss to the top of her head as he opened the door.

"Rupert, I'm glad to see you and the girl made it home safely."

Giles' face darkened. "I assure you, Quentin, this is a bad time to pay us a social call."

"Not a social call. I'm here on Council business." Travers swept past him without an invitation. Just as well, because Giles hadn't intended to offer one. The older man paused in the archway between the foyer and the living room. He turned back with one raised brow. "Barney the dinosaur?"

Giles hurriedly passed him, flicking off the television awkwardly. "Yes, well, after last night… Well, if it held her interest, I was hardly going to…"

Travers chuckled. "I understand. My grandchildren are positively addicted."

They shared a bemused smile between them, before Giles remembered himself and smoothed his expression. Whatever Travers' reason for coming, it would not be good.

"I've been trying to reach the Council all morning. Is it true, Quentin?"

Travers lowered himself to the couch and picked up a book absently. His eyes seemed very far away, and he nodded faintly. "This has never happened in recorded history. We're not even sure how they found them all, except that it must be by magic. Very powerful magic. Well beyond anything the Council is capable of. But they did find them all, Rupert. Every last one. Some that even we hadn't discovered yet. Some that weren't even born yet."

Giles slowly sat in a chair opposite, rhythmically stroking his daughter's arm, then the length of her braid. Robin laid her head on his shoulder. He had no words.

"You do know what this means, don't you?" Travers began carefully. "All the other potentials are dead, even the ones who had passed the age where they might be Called. They didn't just kill the girls, Rupert; they killed the women, too. Robin is the last slayer. When Faith dies, she will be Called."

Giles closed his eyes. They sat in silence for several moments before Giles removed his glasses and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. Robin reached out and took his glasses, slipping them on her own face and blinking up at him through large lenses perched at the tip of her nose. He chuckled slightly as he reclaimed his glasses, little fingerprints now on the lenses, so he had to polish them before wearing them again. He pulled her in tight against him, his head resting on the top of hers. This precious child who meant the world to him. How could he save her from that kind of life?

His eyes found Travers' across the room. "Faith?"

The older watcher leaned back, making himself comfortable on the couch, crossing his legs casually. "Security has been stepped up at the prison. She's been moved to solitary until we can sort out the danger."

Giles nodded to the books resting on the couch beside the older man. "I've been researching that myself."

Travers looked skeptical as he perused one thin volume. "The sword of Camela? I hardly see how this relates."

"I found the mark in the house."

"The mark?" Travers flipped through several pages, before he stopped, his eyes widening slightly. He offered out the volume for Giles to see the illustration. The familiar mark of crescent moon and lightning bolt. "This mark?"

Giles nodded.

"Hmm… This could prove useful. We found this same symbol painted on or around most of the potentials killed. On their watchers or parents as well. We assumed it was the symbol for a spell, perhaps the same spell that led their assassins to them. It appears we were mistaken." Travers took a deep breath, absently touching his fingers to his mouth as he thought. "You're saying Shaun and Catherine McGregor-"

Robin tensed in her father's arms and began to whimper. Giles quickly put an end to the conversation. "We can discuss this further at a later time. Robin doesn't need to hear these things." The girl began to cry softly, and he rose, swaying gently with her for a moment before moving towards the kitchen. "I'm making tea. Would you like some?"

"Please."

Giles escaped into the kitchen, murmuring to his child, trying to calm her. Perhaps she was only now realizing that her parents were gone.

He began his familiar ritual of making tea, because that, of course, was the answer to everything. Some unknown foe had killed all the potentials the world over, was probably still hunting his daughter, but a spot of tea would make everything better. Robin could not escape her fate: she would be the next Slayer, but a little Earl Grey would clear his head.

The water started to boil, and he realized that Robin's breathing had evened out. He glanced down and saw that her eyes were dipping closed, her fingers relaxing from their grip of his gray pullover. He hummed softly as poured two cups. The poor girl needed more sleep than she had gotten last night, and if she was anything like Alex, would be needing an afternoon nap as well. But Giles was unsure whether he should lay her down to sleep alone. His arms were tiring, though, and he couldn't carry her the whole day.

He brought the tea into the living room, Travers standing up to relieve him of the tray he was holding in one hand. Buffy and Alex entered at that moment, Buffy stopping short in the foyer.

"What's _he_ doing here?"

Travers set the tea tray on the coffee table and straightened his spine proudly. "There are things I needed to discuss with the two of you, Miss Summers."

"Mrs. Giles," she corrected sharply.

"Yes, well, at any rate, the events of the last day have broad ramifications for the Council and for you."

Her eyes narrowed and her arms crossed. Giles bit back a small smirk. It was perhaps petty, but he would enjoy watching Buffy take the man down a notch.

"Flower," Alex stated proudly, offering up a wilted dandelion to his father.

"Very nice, son, but I think it's time for a nap." Giles had seized the boy's hand before he could escape.

"No nap!" Alex insisted, desperately trying to wriggle free.

Giles found it much more difficult to handle the boy with only one available hand. He tried to reason with the child instead. "Please, Alex, Robin's already fallen asleep, but she'll be frightened if she wakes all alone. You don't want her to be scared, do you?"

Alex shook his head reluctantly.

"You don't have to take a nap if you don't want to. You just have to stay in bed with Robin while she sleeps. Can you do that for her?"

The child stopped fighting him and seemed to consider this. Finally, he allowed Giles to lead him up the stairs by the hand.

"Good, this will give me an opportunity to speak with your Slayer alone," Travers said, and Giles glanced towards Buffy. Damn, he would miss the verbal sparring.

He tucked Robin into his own bed, with Alex curled up beside her. The boy's bed was not big enough for two, and at least this would be familiar to her when she woke. They would have to get her a bed of her own and clothes and toys and perhaps a tiny table and chairs with a tea set like she'd had before. He frowned. Perhaps they shouldn't get her the same kinds of toys she'd had at the McGregors'. Maybe that would only stir up painful memories. Perhaps a dollhouse instead. He shook his head, out of his depth. How did one help a child recover from a trauma such as this? He really didn't know what to do for her.

"Daddy?"

"Yes?"

Alex shook his head. "No s'eep."

Giles smiled and kissed him on the forehead. "You don't have to. Just lie here with Robin. I'll read you a story while we wait for her to wake up."

He reached for a book on the nightstand and lay down beside his twins. He'd only read three pages before Alex was asleep as well. He touched them both on their heads and smiled. In spite of everything that had happened, in spite of the danger that still hung over them, he felt a peace he hadn't felt in over three years. Both of his children were home. He felt complete.

He quietly slipped out of the room and down the stairs. He found Buffy and Travers sitting across from each other in the living room. Buffy was actually drinking the second cup of tea. It was all much more civilized than he had expected. He was ashamed to admit that he was somewhat disappointed. But then, he noticed the tension coiled in Buffy's frame and realized that he hadn't missed the fireworks after all.

"Bite me," she said bitterly.

"Colorful as always," Travers replied calmly. "But surely you must see the necessity."

Giles took a seat on the arm of Buffy's chair, his hand resting on her shoulder: a show of solidarity.

"And if we don't?" Buffy asked. "You'll what? Give her back to the McGregors? They're dead."

Giles squeezed her shoulder slightly, hoping to rein her in before she went too far. "Actually, Buffy," he murmured, "her grandparents could easily fight us for custody. And the Council could back them if they chose."

Travers set his cup on the coffee table before leaning back into the couch. "Actually, your Slayer is more right than she knows. The McGregors are dead. All of them."

"What?"

Travers smoothed his tie and tucked it further into his waistcoat. "Last night, this morning, one by one: the grandparents as well as all her other living relations. They killed all the McGregors."

Giles nodded, his eyes closed, his voice barely a whisper. "Looking for her."

"Yes, they appear much more organized than any other vampires or demons we have run across. And they have enormous resources at their disposal. To find and kill all the potential slayers around the world in one night… There must be literally hundreds working together."

Buffy leaned forward, asking urgently, "But they don't know Robin is here? They don't know she's ours?"

"Not as yet."

Giles was on his feet. "Dear Lord, I gave the hospital in LA my name and address."

Travers didn't seem nearly as concerned. "The Council has already taken care of your lapse in judgment. All record of your visit to LA has been expunged. That is how we knew she survived. That is how I knew to come speak with you."

Giles flinched as Buffy swatted him on the arm. "Oww! What?"

"You gave them your name and address, Mr. Stealthy-Pants? What, did you fail the class at watcher school where they teach you _not_ to leave a big ole paper trail for your would-be killers to follow?"

He sighed. "I would have rather given an alias, but there were police there, asking about the fire, and they knew you. It would have been rather difficult to be incognito. Not to mention that the doctors wouldn't let me leave until I had proved I had a legal right to Robin." He drew himself up taller. "And I _never_ failed any classes during my watcher's training."

Travers coughed. "Well, there was that one class…"

Giles spun and glared daggers at the other man. "I can do without your input, thank you very much."

Buffy shrugged and stood up. "Well, discussion over as far as I can see. Robin's _our_ daughter now, and we're not going to turn her into the ultimate fighting machine. So you can just stuff it up your English Channel, 'cause the Council isn't going to touch her."

Travers didn't flinch at the venom in her tone. "You forget about the tapes, my dear."

"Tapes?"

Giles felt the panic seize each muscle. The older watcher was about to lay bare his darkest secret, the only one he still kept from Buffy. He remembered her words to him from the mansion in India: _You do this, and you'll be exactly what Longsworth thinks you are. You'll be a killer, and you won't be the man I love anymore_. She thought she had stopped him from killing Longsworth. What would she think when she learned she hadn't?

Travers arched one brow in Giles' direction. "You never told her?"

He tried a gambit: a lie cloaked in the truth. "She knows about Ben."

"Ooooh," Buffy said in understanding. "_Those_ tapes."

But Travers wasn't buying it. He saw the full truth in Giles' omission: that Buffy did not know about Longsworth and Sulla and that Giles was terrified she might find out. But the man would never enlighten the slayer. That information would be much more valuable in its ability to make Giles dance to the Council's tune.

Buffy stepped over to stand in front of Travers, her hands planted on her hips, looking down her nose at him. "We both know it's a bluff. You don't want to send Giles to jail. Because then you wouldn't just lose a potential slayer, you would lose the _actual_ Slayer. And I'm thinking all you watchers would rather, well…. _watch_ than actually get your hands dirty." She bent down to bring them face-to-face. "So you can just go back to England, and I'll let you know if and when we need you." She straightened abruptly. "Hey! Were you just looking down my shirt?"

"Most certainly not!" Travers sputtered indignantly.

"You were totally looking down my shirt!" She spun and crossed back to Giles, pulling him down into an unexpected and passionate kiss. She released him after a moment and smiled, whispering for his ears only, "Did you see how red Mr. Repressed got? God, that was fun!" Then she faced the older watcher again, all the amusement gone from her face. "I'm going upstairs to check on the twins. I believe we're finished here."

And she disappeared around the corner and up the stairs.

Quentin chuckled.

"What?" Giles snapped, still trying to compose himself.

"I was just thinking of when I fired you. How wrongly I judged you. 'A father's love for the child' indeed!"

Giles removed his glasses and carefully polished them. He answered softly, "She wasn't a child."

"No, most slayers aren't, I suppose. They don't have the luxury of childhood." Travers studied the younger watcher intently, and Giles blushed under the scrutiny. "You were in love with her even then, weren't you?"

He paused for a moment before replacing his glasses. "If I was, I didn't know it, or at least I didn't admit it to myself."

"I was still right to fire you. And I would fire you again if I thought I could. It's never a good idea to love your slayer, Rupert, in any capacity."

"Tell me honestly, Quentin, has there ever been a watcher who hasn't?"

"None that were any good." The older watcher sighed and looked off to the side in contemplation. "But it only creates complications. There will always come the choice, the moment when you must choose between her and duty, when you must send her out to die. If a watcher ever loves his slayer too much to make that choice, then we are all lost." His eyes returned to the younger watcher, his gaze stripping him bare. "Tell me, Rupert, as long as we are speaking honestly with each other: could you still make that choice?"

"No." Giles didn't even hesitate before he answered. He sank back down into his chair and stared at his hands for long moments before continuing. "But to even ask me that… you underestimate the slayers in this equation. It is never the watcher's choice to make. It is never _my_ choice."

He leaned back, ran one hand over his face. His mouth quirked up in a small smile at the memory. "I tried to stop her once, you know, many years ago. She was only sixteen years old and fated to die. And she looked at me with tears down her cheeks, and her eyes were filled with almost hatred, I would say, for everything I represented at that moment. And she begged me to find a way for her to live. I tried to stop her from facing the Master. I tried to go in her place. But if you had ever had a slayer of your own, Quentin, you would know. You can't stop a slayer. _She_ made the choice, and I had no say in it. She bloody cold-clocked me, and I was unconscious on the floor."

Travers chuckled again.

"Yes, do laugh at my pain," Giles muttered. "My jaw was purple for a week. My point in all this, Quentin, is this: if I didn't love her so much, I wouldn't fight so hard for her. I couldn't stay up night after night, researching and losing sleep because I needed to find the smallest bit of information that would give her even the smallest advantage. I wouldn't work so hard at her training or pick up a sword and fight beside her. You think my love for her is a weakness, but I'm telling you that it's a strength."

Travers nodded as he stood. "I hope for all our sakes that you're right about that." And then he turned and walked out of the house, glancing up the stairs once before closing the door quietly behind him.

"What do we do, Giles?" Buffy asked softly. She came down the last few steps into his view.

"How long have you been standing there?"

She shrugged. "Long enough. How do we keep Robin from becoming the next slayer?"

Giles crossed to the staircase and leaned against the railing as he thought. "Assuming another potential slayer is born within the next year, she would have to reach fifteen, I think, before we could be certain she would be the one Called. Fifteen is the prime age to Call a Slayer, and Robin would be past nineteen."

Buffy nodded. "So we have to keep Faith alive another sixteen years. That would make her what? Almost forty? That's doable, right? I mean, what's the record for oldest slayer?"

He dodged the question. "We might have a chance as long as Faith is in jail and not actually functioning as a slayer. But when she is released… Well, she's always been much more reckless than you."

"Not to mention more psychotic." She came down the remaining steps and leaned against the bottom banister in a pose to match Giles. "She's locked up on a whole laundry list of stuff, isn't she? I mean, she's not getting out anytime soon, right?"

He nodded slightly. "But, Buffy, if you… Well, after the last time… there was no new slayer Called after the battle with Glory. You had only been… gone… f-for five weeks, but if the evil had become too much for us to fight alone, the Council would have activated the next slayer."

"They can do that?" He stared at her for long moments, and then her eyes widened with comprehension. "Oh. I get it. They would have killed Faith. Harsh."

Giles didn't respond, so Buffy summarized their discussion. "So, the game plan is for me and Faith to celebrate our over-the-hill, big four-oh birthdays. Doable, right?"

He smiled sadly. "We can certainly try."

Their eyes locked. They each knew they were lying to themselves. Robin would be the next slayer.

* * *

"Morgaine?" Sabrina closed the spellbook she was studying. "What's up?"

Morgaine shut the door behind her, raised her hand, and murmured some words beneath her breath. It must be something serious indeed if she felt the need to ward the room against prying eyes and ears.

"It's Willow."

Sabrina pulled herself to the edge of her bed. "She's not thinking of leaving, is she?" She had really hoped to use Willow for the next few spells they had to cast, not to mention the grand finale. It would be such a shame to waste such power, even if it would count towards her 280.

"No, but she's starting to ask questions. I think she's been talking to her friends. I don't know what they've been telling her, but she's asking about the bodies, about the four who tried to leave before."

"Hmm…" Sabrina began to pace. "We have to cut her off more completely. She spends most of her time here, but she still goes to her apartment sometimes. We have to make sure she spends _all_ her time here. And we have to break her trust in them."

Morgaine nodded in agreement. "Yeah, but how we gonna do that?"

"Leave it to me. I'll talk to her. I'm good at reading people. It's all about listening, my friend. If you listen hard enough, it's like they write your whole half of the conversation for you."

* * *

"Are you sure about this, Buffy? We don't have to go."

Giles was sitting on the bed with Robin, trying to get a pair of shoes on her feet, but she was busily occupied with trying to fit a doll's dress over her stuffed rabbit and moved every time he had the shoe almost on.

"You're the one who insisted that we should get back to life as usual. Me to work, Dawn to school, and you to the Magic Box." Buffy was busy with a similar activity: trying to put shoes on Alex. She was hampered by the fact that he wanted to tie the laces by himself, and she wouldn't let him. "Routine and stability are what she needs to regain her sense of security, you said."

"Yes, well, I may not have exactly known what I was talking about."

"Oooo, can I have that in writing?"

He gave her a withering stare before taking the rabbit from Robin's hands. "Here, luv, let me." He couldn't believe he was putting doll clothes on a stuffed rabbit, a quite dirty one at that. It probably wasn't the cleanest before the fire, and now it was a dingy gray. They would have to wash it when they got home.

They had taken the children shopping after Dawn returned from school, buying clothes and a bed and toys. Dawn and Buffy had perhaps gone overboard with the girl stuff, oooing and ahhhing over dolls and Barbies and miniature kitchens with tiny plastic food until Giles wondered who they were buying it for. Alex remained firmly convinced that Robin would want a certain robot to play with, and he allowed the boy to add it to the cart. Robin, herself, had no opinion, not pointing out anything to them, simply watching with wide eyes. She ducked her head into Giles' shoulder anytime passerby tried to talk to her.

Out of everything they had brought home, Robin was only interested in which doll clothes she could fit on her stuffed rabbit. And now Giles sat with the damned thing in his lap, his large fingers fumbling with tiny buttons, reminding him of those first weeks of dressing a squirming Alex in tiny baby clothes and his frustration with the small fastenings. He handed the dressed toy back to the girl, and she was contented enough to sit still as he put her shoes on.

"I'm sure John and April will understand if we want to reschedule," Giles said.

"C'mon, it'll be nice. Alex will have fun. You've been researching all day. You could stand to get out of the house. And Robin will just be attached to your neck no matter where we go. Dawn's managed to forget about the whole Spike thing, which should last maybe a day. And I know I would like to just be a normal family for once, without demons and slaying and stuff. It's just one evening. Let's just go."

So they went. The Tims lived in a modest one-story house with a large fenced-in backyard, complete with swimming pool. Dawn and Alex both had to be told that it was too cold to go swimming. April answered the door. She was a tall, slender woman, with long dark hair streaked with gray that she had tied in a knot at the back of her neck. She smiled as she greeted them, making a fuss over the children, which Alex loved and Robin shied away from. She led them into the backyard, where John was busy grilling. He seemed caught off guard when he spied the two small children.

"Who's this little doll?" John asked as he attempted to tickle the little girl. Robin made a face and swatted his hand away.

"She's not good with strangers right now," Giles apologized. "This is our daughter, Robin, and our son, Alex, and Buffy's sister, Dawn."

"Nice to meet all of you," John replied.

Alex held up three fingers. "I'm free," he informed the man.

Not to be outdone, Robin extended three fingers as well. Giles smiled. It was the first time she had shown any interest in interacting with anyone but him.

"You told me they had a three-year-old son," April scolded her husband. "You didn't tell me they had twins."

"I didn't know," John insisted, giving Giles a look that clearly said he would pay him back later.

"Can I get anyone anything to drink?" April asked.

"Milk," Alex requested. "Cocoa milk."

"One chocolate milk coming up."

Buffy, Dawn, and Alex followed her into the house. John turned back to his grill, flipping chicken breasts and spreading on more sauce. He was shaking his head.

"_Two_ three-year-olds at your age? You deserve a medal. Either that or a stern tongue-lashing for forgetting to tell me. I think April has some Ginkgo Biloba in the kitchen you could take."

"Ha bloody ha. This is actually the first day she's been with us." And then came the story of her abduction, carefully edited, and a brief mention of her return, also edited so as not to disturb the young girl.

"Well, let me know if there's anything I can do for you," his friend offered. "Summer break is in less than two months, and then I'm free as a bird. We could tag team them if you want."

Giles chuckled. "I don't think that will be necessary. I think I can handle them both just fine."

"You say that now. You've only had her a day. Wait two months and tell me that again. Twins, walking at the same time, usually in opposite directions… You'll see."

Giles adjusted his grip on Robin. His arms were becoming very tired. "Why? You have twins?"

"No, thank God. But April and I did have our first two less than a year apart, so I have a rough idea of what it's like. And I was much younger and more energetic back then," he added with a poke at Giles' side.

Robin didn't seem to like that and batted John's hand away with a petulant grunt.

His eyebrows rose, and he chuckled. "Someone's a wee bit possessive, eh?"

Giles was similarly surprised and amused. "It would seem so. I must warn you: if you don't cease teasing me, I shall have to sic her on you."

They both laughed at that, and Robin ducked her head against his chest. They talked until the chicken finished cooking. Giles confessed that his daughter hadn't spoken yet, and it was beginning to concern him, so John made it his mission to coax at least one word out of her. He knew lots of silly stories and songs, having taught second grade for a number of years, and he tried them all out. Giles couldn't help but laugh at the sight, even as he felt the pang of disappointment at his friend's failure.

They rejoined the others in the house, Alex immediately bounding over to his father.

"Look, Daddy, look!" he cried. "Doggy!" He dragged the poor thing over by one ear for Giles to see.

Giles knelt down and took his son by the hand. "Be nice to the doggy, Alex. I'm sure he doesn't like that." He covered the boy's hand with his own and demonstrated how to pet the animal properly.

"Want doggy!" his son demanded.

Giles would have said no, but he watched as Robin's hand stretched out to pet the animal too. "We'll think about it," he said instead. He set her down in front of him, so she could better reach the dog, but that ended her interest in the animal. She turned and desperately tried to climb back into his arms. He sighed and lifted her as he stood.

They sat together at the table and ate. Robin sat in Giles' lap, but still wouldn't take anything he offered. He neglected his own meal in his attempts to feed her. Perhaps wanting some attention of his own, Alex fussed over his food, even after Buffy cut it into tiny pieces, insisting that he wanted to be fed too. Buffy sighed and pulled the boy into her lap. John and April shared a knowing look across the table.

Dawn asked April all the cop questions that Buffy couldn't answer or that Giles didn't want to hear: Did she ever track any serial killers? Had she ever been shot at before? Had _she_ ever shot anyone before? Did she ever put someone away and then find out they were innocent? What was the most bizarre murder she ever solved?

Giles could see that John was becoming uncomfortable with the conversation, as was he, so he deftly changed the topic to theatre, which Dawn was just as eager to talk about. Alex proudly announced that he had seen Dawn's play and that she had kissed a boy. Everyone laughed.

April and John were describing a performance they had seen in New York to Dawn, and Buffy was busy trying to make Alex use his napkin. Giles was nearing the end of his patience, trying to get Robin to eat something. He sighed in resignation and picked up a forkful of food. Leaning close to her ear, he whispered, "Zoom, zoom, here comes the airplane, open up." He twirled the fork in front of her, and miraculously, she opened her mouth and accepted it. He smiled triumphantly and repeated his success. Then he glanced up and caught Buffy's smug smirk. He blushed to the tips of his ears.

"That was wonderful," Buffy said when the meal was finished.

"Yes, thank you for inviting us," Giles seconded.

"I'cream," Alex begged.

April laughed. "Well, we don't have any of that, but we do have some of these." She set a tray of cookies on the table, and the boy eagerly reached for one.

"What do you say, Alex?" Giles scolded.

"Tank you," the boy answered around a mouthful of chocolate chips.

Giles handed one to Robin, who, now that she had begun eating again, no longer had any hesitations about stuffing her mouth full of cookie.

They said goodnight to their hosts. John glanced back and forth between the twins and again reminded Giles of his offer to tag team over the summer break, possibly even babysit some weekend before that if Mommy and Daddy wanted some time alone.

"Nah," Buffy said. "That's what we have Dawn for."

"Hey!" her sister protested. "I graduate in May, don't forget. And then your free babysitting days are over."

Buffy frowned. "No, if I remember correctly, you're grounded until the _twins_ graduate."

Dawn's face darkened, and she stomped off to the minivan. Oh well, a perfect evening would be too much to ask for.

"Well, the offer's there if you want it," John finished.

"Don't let him fool you," April insisted, sliding one hand into the crook of her husband's arm. "He's not doing it out of the goodness of his heart. He wants to get some kiddy practice in before our first grandchild gets here."

John bowed his head, apparently found out.

They waved goodbye and headed back to the van, Alex skipping on ahead of them. Giles kept a watchful eye. It was, after all, past dark.

Buffy smiled. "See? I told you it would be nice."

"Yes, you were right."

She whistled. "Twice now in one day. I really need to carry a tape recorder." She tugged on his arm and stretched up to give him a peck on the cheek. She was intercepted by Robin's hand, shoving her face back. Buffy blinked in surprise. "God, possessive much?" She tried to make it sound like a joke, but Giles could hear the hurt in her voice. She reached out one hand to touch their daughter, and Robin recoiled. He could see the pain fill Buffy's eyes.

"Just give her time," he murmured softly.

"Yeah, time," she echoed as she climbed into the minivan.

* * *

_Mustn't say a word. Mustn't say a word._

Mommy told her that as she carried her out of her room. Robin blinked the sleep from her eyes and reached for Queenie, but they were already in the hallway and Queenie was still on the bed.

She could hear awful noises downstairs and things breaking and her Daddy's voice shouting. He sounded scared. Robin wrapped her arms tighter around her mother.

_Mustn't say a word. Mustn't say a word._

Mommy said it over and over as she tucked her into the laundry hamper. Robin began to cry, and her mother's hands dug into her shoulders as she shook her once.

"Be quiet. Quiet as a mouse, Robin. You mustn't say a word."

The lid slammed down, and Robin was left in darkness, curled into a little ball, watching through the tiny cracks in the hamper.

She saw her father land on the floor. Her mother screamed, and there were bad men in the room, monsters with scary yellow eyes. They tore open the closet, looked under the bed and in the cabinets, constantly shouting, "Where is she?"

One of them hit her mother, and Robin shut her eyes real tight and tucked her head into her knees and held her hands over her ears. Mommy and Daddy started screaming, but if she was good and quiet like a mouse and did as she was told…

_Mustn't say a word._

It got real quiet, and she couldn't hear anything. She didn't move for a long time after that. Then, she heard the fire alarms go off and was torn. Fire was a bad thing, and she was scared and couldn't remember what they had taught her to do. Finally, Robin poked her little head out of the hamper, but everyone was gone: the monsters, Mommy, Daddy, everyone. She climbed out and tiptoed to the phone on little mouse feet. 911. She could do that. But nothing happened when she pushed the buttons. The phone made no sound.

She dropped the phone and turned around. Everything was red. She sniffed back the tears and snuck silently from her parents' room and into hers. Everything was messy and her covers were on the floor. The monsters looked in here too. She pressed her hands to her ears. The alarm was so loud. It hurt. She found Queenie lying on the floor and snatched the rabbit, quick as a bunny, and dashed across the hall to the office, to her special little hiding spot, where nobody would find her.

Only big enough for her, she pulled the door tight behind her and crawled back as far as she could. It was dark, very dark, and she couldn't see anything. She pressed her back up against the wall behind her and curled her knees up to her chest, clutching tightly to Queenie. The alarms sounded much farther away now. It was dark, and she was scared, and she couldn't see anything, not even the tiniest sliver of light through the crack of the door.

The darkness moved in front of her, molding itself into shapes and forms her imagination turned into monsters and animals moving closer towards her. She cowered deeper into the crawlspace, pressed tight to the wall, but dark things were moving. She could feel their breath on her skin. She could feel a cold, clammy hand on her arm. She screamed.

She felt strong arms around her and continued to scream and to kick and to struggle desperately. A soft, familiar voice was saying her name over and over. The light came on, and she wasn't in her hiding spot anymore. She was in bed with Giles and Buffy, and he was holding her. She started to cry, and he rubbed her back in slow circles.

"Giles?" the lady asked.

"I'll take care of it. Just go back to sleep. You have to work in the morning."

"So do you."

He got out of bed and carried her into the hallway. Alex was standing in his doorway, wiping his eyes.

"Bad dream," he said.

"Yes," Giles answered. "Robin had a bad dream. She'll be fine in a bit. Now, go back to sleep, son."

Alex frowned and shook his head. Dawn was standing in the hallway now too. "You wanna sleep in my bed, kiddo?"

The boy nodded vigorously and followed her into her room. Now just the two of them in the hallway. Robin sniffled and laid her head on Giles' shoulder. He took her downstairs, into the kitchen. He sat her on the counter, but she didn't want to be set down. She whimpered and wrapped her arms tighter around his neck. He sighed and picked her up again.

"You keep this up, and your legs are going to atrophy," he told her, as he reached for a medicine bottle on the top shelf. He struggled with the lid for a moment, finding it hard to open while holding her against his hip.

"You believe in magic, don't you, Robin?" he asked as he finally got the lid off. She nodded solemnly. "Good, because this is my extra special no-dream magic potion. Alex takes it to get rid of his bad dreams."

He poured some into a spoon. It was blue. She turned her head to the side when he tried to feed it to her.

"Please, Robin. I promise you won't taste it. It will help keep the bad dreams away."

She finally gave in and accepted the spoonful. He was right: she couldn't taste it. Maybe that was why it was magic medicine. She laid her head back on his shoulder. She missed Mommy and Daddy, but she was okay when Giles was with her. She didn't ever want him to go away like they did.

* * *

Buffy rolled over, and then opened her eyes. The bed was still empty. Giles and Robin hadn't returned yet. She looked at the clock: almost three in the morning. It had been over two hours. And Giles hadn't gotten much sleep the night before either.

She tiptoed out of her room and down the stairs. She found them in the living room and simply sat on the bottom step, watching unnoticed.

It was a sight she hadn't seen in ages: Giles was walking the floor with his child. It had probably been a year or better since he'd needed to do so for Alex. She remembered how she would sometimes sneak down the stairs like this to watch him. Sometimes she would catch him singing soft lullabies or telling the baby stories, half fairytale, half mythical saga of his mother's own exploits. Sometimes Giles had looked as he did tonight: half dead on his feet. Those were the times she would take pity on him and take over the baby-soothing activities. That probably wouldn't work in this instance.

Robin's arms draped limply over his shoulders, her head tucked up against his neck, her dangling feet swaying with his movements. Giles' own arms were crossed beneath her butt to hold her in place, his head dipping down to rest against hers, his eyes drooping half closed. The poor man was exhausted. And yet, he continued to wear a circular path on the floor in front of the coffee table. Buffy leaned forward to peer through the railing. Robin's eyes were closed.

"Giles," she whispered.

His head jerked up sharply, as if he'd been caught napping in class.

"I think she's asleep." She approached the two of them, stooping slightly to assure herself that, yes, Robin had finished counting sheep.

"I know," he answered, stopping his endless circle and now just swaying from side to side. "But every time I stop moving, she wakes up."

Buffy reached out and stroked the soft gold curls. The only time she could touch her own daughter was when the girl was sleeping. It broke her heart. Things were mending between her and Giles, but this was the hardest to bear and the hardest to forgive. She'd always known that she was Alex's favorite and that it bothered Giles sometimes to come second. But Alex still loved his father dearly, would ask after him when he was gone, would bring him legos and cookies when he was sick in bed, and would even vehemently defend him when Anya got too harsh in her teasing. Buffy could understand if Giles was Robin's favorite in the same way, and it even made some sense. Alex was more of a roughhouse kind of boy, outgoing and sociable, all things that suited Buffy. And Robin seemed like such a quiet girl. She probably should prefer her reserved, bookish father. But that Buffy didn't even get a piece of her heart was beyond unfair. And even though she tried not to, she couldn't help but blame Giles for that fact.

She leaned closer to press a kiss to her daughter's cheek. Giles stopped swaying for a moment so she could. A moment's stillness was all it took, for Robin woke again.

"See what I mean?" he grumbled as he resumed his circular pacing.

"You know, I don't _have_ to go to work tomorrow. I could stay home and maybe let you get some sleep."

He smiled softly. "I'll be fine, Buffy. I've gone many sleepless nights before while researching. And I do still think it's best for Robin if we maintain some sort of stable routine."

"Yeah, stability, security, that's what you've always been best at. Giles the rock." He frowned at her as she said it. Perhaps she hadn't completely kept the bitterness from her voice. She turned and trudged up the stairs, muttering under her breath, "Yeah, you're exactly what she needs right now."

* * *

Giles walked into the Magic Box forty minutes late. Alex had been more than a handful this morning, perhaps feeling a bit jealous of the attention Robin was receiving. He had hidden all his shoes and by the time Giles had found a pair, the boy was naked. Robin started giggling, and trying to catch and dress one mischievous boy was nearly impossible to accomplish with one clingy girl slung under his arm. That would have been the end of his tardiness if Alex hadn't also insisted on pouring his own milk for his cereal, which Giles would have never let him do if he hadn't also been trying to brush Robin's hair at the same time. The milk spilled everywhere, including on Alex, necessitating another undressing and redressing. Giles had almost wished that Buffy and Dawn had stayed home for the day. A stable routine indeed! Bollocks!

Anya smiled brightly as they entered. "This must be your newly returned daughter. She's very Ahhh!" She screamed and jumped back two feet. "What's… What's…" she shook her finger in Robin's general direction, "_that_!"

Giles looked down, baffled. "This? It's a stuffed toy, Anya."

"It's a stuffed _bunny_," she clarified. "Why would you get your child something like that? You're sick! Sick!"

He sighed. "We didn't buy this for her. It's actually the only thing she has left from her old home."

Anya shuddered. "You should have let it burn."

Robin whimpered and clutched her bunny tighter.

Giles gave his employee a stern glare. "That's enough, Anya. The girl had nightmares all night as it was without you upsetting her further today."

She ran her hand protectively over her rounded stomach as she turned back towards the register. "Yeah, I would have nightmares, too, if you made me sleep with _that_."

Giles herded Alex into the side office with some puzzles and dominoes. He needed to do some research while he was at the store. He had some ideas about how to find those responsible for killing all the potential slayers, and he just needed a little time. It shouldn't be that difficult. After all, he always brought Alex to the shop with him, and as long as he found something to occupy the child, he had never had a problem finishing his work before.

Seven hours, one broken statue, one priceless volume of spellcraft ruined with chocolate milk, two temper tantrums, and four time-outs later, and Giles realized that he was sadly mistaken. Robin didn't seem much of a bother in that regard, except that his arms were aching from constantly carrying her. He had done the same for Alex until the boy was one or so, but he had also weighed less than half as much at the time. But every time Giles set the girl down for even a moment, she was whining to be carried again. And without being able to set her down for even a moment, he couldn't read some of the darker volumes he needed. He feared how she might react to the illustrations.

So at the end of the day, he had only a stack of books to take home and study later to show for all his trouble.

And Anya, as she left, informed him that, "It isn't very professional to have children running all over the shop while customers are trying to buy things."

He rolled his eyes. "This from the _employee_ who hoped to bring her own baby to work with her."

She frowned and shook her head. "Well, _my_ child will be much better behaved. I've been reading parenting manuals."

"Yes, I pity the poor thing." Giles was in a foul mood and had a monster headache. He locked the front door with finality, took Alex firmly by the hand, and started for the car. He was trying not to be angry with his son. The boy was only acting out. His world had changed overnight, and as much as he might want a sister, a three-year-old could hardly be expected to have any idea what that entailed.

Over the next week, things settled into a pattern, and Robin seemed to improve with this stability. By the third day, he didn't need to carry her constantly, although she toddled along behind him wherever he went. She sat in a chair beside him instead of in his lap. She fed herself without coaxing. She played with her brother, and his misbehavior died down somewhat as he discovered the joys of having a constant playmate. She still slept in their bed, curled up against Giles. Alex was allowed to sleep with them as well, and the pair wedged their parents to opposite sides of the bed.

The nightmares came much more infrequently by the end of the week, helped along by the no-dream potion and Giles' revelation that she was now terrified of the dark. A nightlight graced each corner of their bedroom now, and in the dim lighting she was much easier to calm when the nightmares did come.

She smiled on a regular basis, and laughed as well. She colored and played with her dolls and picked out books to be read to her. She no longer pushed Buffy away when she came near Giles, although she tended to be possessive if anyone else was involved. Xander was not allowed to sit on the other side of her father. Only Buffy or Alex.

She let Buffy touch her sometimes, although she was still leery of Dawn. And she would sit quietly on the floor outside the bathroom door without pitching a fit when her father was inside.

But as much as Buffy wanted to play a bigger role in her daughter's life, Giles remained her primary caregiver. He bathed her and dressed her and worked out how to wash her hair without getting soap in her eyes and how to comb her curls without pulling them. Anya even taught him how to do a simple braid. He was the one who walked the floor with her at night when she couldn't sleep and the one she gave a goodnight kiss to when they tucked her in.

He could see how much it hurt Buffy. She cried sometimes in their room alone, and he couldn't even comfort her without bringing Robin in with him, which only made things worse. He didn't know what to do or say, except to ask for patience. It had been over a week since the fire, and Robin had improved tremendously. Given more time, she would accept Buffy as well.

But in all that time, even with all the strides she had made, Robin spoke not a word.

In the past week, Giles had continued his research as well, nearing a possible solution. Magic left a taint, a trace, on those it was cast on, even after the spell dissipated. He found another spell that could trace the magic back to its source. He began assembling his ingredients. The last component would come in his mid-week shipment. After that, he would be able to cast the spell on Robin, to trace back to the ones who had used magic to find the potential slayers. And then his Slayer would kill them.

* * *

Buffy was just washing up the last of the dinner dishes when the phone rang. It was John. She paused before calling for Giles. His friend didn't sound just right.

"John, are you okay?"

"It's April. She umm…" The man's voice faltered. She heard him take several deep breaths. "She was investigating a lead on a case, I guess. She failed to answer a page, so they sent another car. They… umm… they found her."

He didn't say anything more, and Buffy was afraid to ask. "Is she…? Is April…?"

"No, no," he quickly answered. "Her partner is. God, Scott had a wife and kids. We were supposed to go to his daughter's fifth birthday party this weekend." The man started to cry. Buffy could hear his shaking sobs over the line.

"John, where are you?"

"Sunnydale Memorial," he managed. "She's up in surgery. I just…"

"It's okay," she said. "Giles will come. I'll uhh… I'll go get him. You can talk to him yourself."

She set the phone down carefully and stepped to the stairway, calling for Giles. He appeared on the landing a moment later, holding a dripping Robin wrapped in a towel.

"What is it, Buffy? I'm rather busy."

She gave him the two-sentence synopsis, and he was hurrying down the stairs and into the kitchen. He had barely picked up the phone when the doorbell rang. Dawn was upstairs, keeping Alex entertained. Or rather, he was keeping her distracted from any thoughts of visiting Spike. So Buffy crossed over to the foyer.

She opened the door, still focused on listening to the phone conversation going on in the next room. When she faced the new arrival, her entire train of thought completely derailed. Her mouth dropped open and remained there. She couldn't even string together the words "Come in" or "Hi" or "What the hell?"

"Hey, B."

Faith's eyes rolled back into her head, and she crumpled into a heap right there on the front porch.

Next: Part 7: The Council's Last Stand


	7. The Council’s Last Stand

ORIGINALLY POSTED: November 8, 2001  
TITLE: The Family Business  
AUTHOR: JK Philips  
RATING: PG-13 (swearing)  
SUMMARY: After the events of The Ticking Clock, Buffy and Giles are still looking for their  
daughter. Can they save her from a terrible fate?  
SPOILERS: Everything up to "The Gift"  
DISCLAIMER: I do not own these characters; they are the property of Joss Whedon,  
Mutant Enemy & Fox. I simply am doing this for fun, and non-profit use.

* * *

Part 7: The Council's Last Stand

Frederick Billington paused in his shelving duties. He thought he heard a sound emanating from deeper in the stacks. Standing frozen in place, he waited several seconds before he exhaled and laughed at himself. Just his active imagination again, helped along by yesterday's lesson on poltergeists and disembodied spirits. After their insightful class, his roommate Anthony had kindly left a tape recorder playing in their room all night. Random doors slamming, faint whispers, and the sporadic echo of a child crying left Frederick in a cold sweat until he had discovered his roommate's prank.

The Council Archives were vast and housed in the basement of the sprawling complex that served as the main headquarters. The rows of shelves sat on rollers, so that by turning a switch, the rows either compressed together or pulled apart enough for someone to pass between them. This allowed the already impressive square footage to contain even more floor to ceiling bookshelves and even more priceless books.

It also meant that whoever had the job of re-shelving spent a great deal of time waiting for the last row to shut and the next to open. Only three rows could be accessed at the same time, and Frederick had a system.

He replaced the final book on his cart and wheeled it to the aisleway. He flicked the switch, closing the last three rows one at a time and opening the next three. Three at a time was his system, and he loaded the cart with the appropriate volumes as he waited.

Aside from the occasional tour, no one ever came down into the Archives except the students who re-shelved and the librarian who ran it. Watchers requested specific volumes, which were fetched and returned for them. They spoke of the Council Libraries with the sense of wonder and awe of those who spent no time in them. Frederick, for one, would be glad to be finished with his watcher's training and done with the menial tasks assigned to his out-of-class schedule. Then someone else could fetch _his_ books for once.

He started down the aisle, pushing a cart full of books containing information on the sorceress Camela, swords and artifacts, the Mortog beast, and locator spells. It seemed to be the project of the week in the halls. Anthony had told him about a rumor circulating among the other students that all the potential slayers had been kidnapped and the watchers were trying to find them to bring them home. If that were true, then it would account for the dark mood hovering over all the watchers.

Frederick froze once more, holding even his breath and straining his ears. He swore he heard something this time, and not just his imagination playing tricks. The empty Archives were creepy, but he wasn't that much of a pansy. Footsteps. He heard them again, coming down the aisleway, four or five rows past him.

"Hello?"

Good one. Why don't you just paint a big bull's-eye on your chest? Haven't you seen enough horror movies to know better?

The footsteps stopped with his voice. He set down the book carefully and silently made his way towards the end of the row opposite from which the footsteps came. No harm in being cautious. The footsteps resumed a moment later. Now that his focus was completely attuned to them, he noticed that the footsteps didn't sound like the soft tread of expensive Italian leather or even the slight squeak of rubber-soled tennies. Each fall contained the sharp click of nails on marble. Or claws.

Frederick's heart pounded faster. His throat felt dry. He pressed his body tight to the end of the bookcase. There was no exit on this side of the stacks. He would have to cross the rows to the other aisleway to escape.

He waited as the soft click-thump of each footfall passed him and continued deeper into the stacks. He waited a few minutes more before he tiptoed through the row and towards his freedom.

He was standing in the middle of the shelves when he first heard it: the whir of gears turning.

The path before him narrowed as the shelves on either side of him began to close in on him. He stood still for a moment, panic gripping him, before he shook himself back to reality.

This was ridiculous. He had spent too many days and nights studying demons and ghouls. Someone had probably just come down into the stacks for a book and was moving the shelves to retrieve it. More than likely, it might even be Anthony, ready with another prank. Well, this time he wasn't going to fall for it. He marched resolutely towards the exit.

Half a shelf of books tumbled onto the floor in front of him. An enormous fur-clad and clawed hand shot through the opening just made. Frederick stopped in his tracks.

"Anthony?" Despite his best attempts, his voice wavered slightly. "I don't think this is very funny."

He heard a deep, guttural growl. He turned and made a mad dash for the other end of the row, but he heard the pounding of footsteps in time with his, and the creature's arm again reached through just ahead of him, spilling books as it did.

Frederick backed up again. Already the row had narrowed sufficiently that he bumped his shoulders on the shelves as he turned. A few more steps, and he was turning sideways to clear the bookcases. He tripped on some of the books that had spilled, hurriedly pulling himself back up. The shelves wouldn't crush him, he had to keep reminding himself. They'll get very narrow, but they'll stop at the first resistance. Frederick stopped at the first word.

"Watcher."

The word was raspy and mangled, but still understandable.

The books directly in front of him emptied onto the floor, and he saw his attacker's face. He wanted to tell this thing that he wasn't a watcher yet, but he didn't expect it to care one way or the other. After stocking all those books over the last week, he was able to identify the thing on sight. The Mortog beast eyed him from the other side of the bookcase. It was truly his final exam for his watcher's training, and he had passed, but a fat lot of good that would do him.

The Mortog beast pushed on the shelving, and the bookcases crushed poor Frederick Billington between them.

* * *

Buffy stood frozen in the doorway for several moments, her mind still trying to wrap itself around what had just happened. Finally, higher brain functions resumed operating, and after a moment's delay her head was able to tell her body to move.

She knelt on the porch and hefted Faith over her shoulder in a fireman's carry. She glanced around the neighborhood to see if anyone had noticed the fugitive on her doorstep before bringing the young woman inside. She laid her out carefully on the couch and began checking for injuries.

Faith had a nasty gash on her head, her dark hair matted with blood. Impressive bruises on her arms and across her stomach, even more impressive because slayers didn't bruise easily. She was wearing very un-Faith-like clothing: a long flowing black skirt dotted with roses and a cream silk blouse embroidered along the neckline. Buffy figured it was the first outfit the slayer could steal off someone's back after her escape. Prison garb would be so obvious, especially if it was that tacky orange jumper like Harrison Ford had in The Fugitive. Buffy smiled slightly at the thought of Faith having to wear something like that.

She wore a lightweight black wool coat over the whole ensemble. The black wool hid the bloodstains on the cream blouse. Thin dots of it across her back, where Buffy found a couple of long, shallow cuts, apparently from a knife. More distressing was the larger bloodstain near her shoulder. An entrance wound and an exit wound, it looked like she had been stabbed straight through, just below her collarbone. The slayer had attempted makeshift bandages, but they were soaked through, blood dripping down her side, staining her top, her skirt, her coat. Faith had likely lost a lot of blood.

Buffy stood to gather supplies and met Giles as he came out of the kitchen.

"I'm headed to the hospital," he informed her. "As soon as I've dressed Robin. I'd rather not bring her along, but…"

"Yeah, yeah," she replied. "I don't relish a three hour screamfest."

He frowned, concern etching little lines across his forehead. "Buffy, are you alright? Are you hurt?"

She glanced down: blood on her hands. "Umm… There's kind of this thing that came up while you were on the phone. C'mere."

She led him into the living room, and he stood in front of the couch for several moments before saying anything.

"Dear Lord!"

Buffy bit her lip. "So what do we do with her?"

He turned their daughter's face from the sight and shifted her weight in his arms. "It is in our best interests to keep Faith safe and healthy. I don't think we dare take her to a hospital until we know what happened. We can't be sure she would be safe there… or back in prison either. I'll try to contact the Council. For now, let's just treat her as best we can."

"Should I tie her up? 'Cause I'm just remembering all the times she tried to kill me. Oh, and the body snatching and the boyfriend stealing. Not really in the mood for any of that right now, you know what I'm saying?"

"I don't think she poses much of a threat at the moment. Let me get the first aid kit."

Buffy shook her head and darted ahead of him. "Nah, I can do that. You get Robin dressed."

They met back a few minutes later, Robin wearing a little denim dress with her hair neatly pulled back in a ponytail- Giles was really getting better at that- and Buffy carting their full arsenal of medical supplies.

Giles took a pair of scissors and neatly cut off Faith's blouse. He started with cleaning the more superficial wounds across Faith's back and on her head, disinfecting and bandaging them carefully. Buffy leaned over his shoulder and watched intently.

"Maybe you should shave off her hair so you can take care of that head wound properly." Buffy flashed him an innocent expression when he glared at her. "What? Ok, so I'm Revenge Girl. No one's perfect all the time. I just keep thinking about walking in on her and Angel… It burns me up is all. And him all defending her like 'oooo, she had such a hard life and oh, she's really trying to change.' Like, I had a really crappy year and stuff, with my mom dying and my boyfriend going all heart of darkness on me. And then the being dead really sucked too. But _I_ didn't come back and try to kill all _my_ friends. I guess after Riley, seeing her with Angel just…" Giles gave her another irritated glare. "Ok, ok, shutting up about Angel now."

Only the shoulder left to care for. Her watcher frowned as he worked. He took care of her enough times; Buffy always knew how serious her injuries were by his expression as he bandaged them. And the look on his face right now was the "I'm seriously considering knocking you out, drugging you up, or otherwise dragging you to the hospital at gunpoint" look. She really hoped Faith would be okay. And not just for Robin's sake. Buffy and Faith had a twisted, complicated past, but tangled up in all of that was friendship. Looking at her fellow slayer now, lying unconscious on the living room couch, her face pale and bare of makeup, she looked vulnerable and childlike, all her pretenses and cocky attitude stripped away.

The shoulder cleaned and bandaged to the best of his ability, Giles strapped her arm against her chest so it wouldn't move and further aggravate the injury. He covered her with some blankets for warmth and modesty. Buffy was impressed. Stripping Faith down to a bra, and her watcher hadn't even blushed.

"I should…" he tried lamely.

"It's okay. Really. We'll be fine here. You go sit with John for a while. See if he needs anything."

Buffy shooed him off in the general direction of the door.

"I'll take a cell," he promised. "I'll keep trying the Council until someone can tell me about Faith."

"I can do that too. I'll call Angel, see if he knows why Faith's here."

Giles and Robin left. Buffy grabbed the cordless, turned a chair around and straddled it, and began her Faith watching duties. One thing she had learned over the years: never turn your back on this woman. Not even when she's supposedly in a coma.

* * *

Giles sat in the waiting room beside John. Neither man said anything. Robin played with some building blocks the hospital had lying around to keep waiting children occupied. She glanced over every few minutes to assure herself that her father was still there.

The nurse came out periodically to offer updates on April's condition. Giles tried to reach the Council repeatedly, without success. He brought his friend coffee. He called the house a couple times, getting updates from Buffy on Faith. She was still unconscious, and Angel's team was unaware of her escape. A couple of hours passed, and Robin grew restless, bringing him a children's magazine to read to her. When she tired of old copies of Highlights, a nurse found some crayons and a coloring book stashed behind the desk, and the girl was happily entertained again.

"Sometimes I don't care," John whispered.

"Hmm?" It was the first thing his friend had said since greeting him on arrival, but Giles wasn't sure he understood what the man was talking about.

"Sometimes it just isn't worth it." John was staring into his half-empty coffee, long since cooled. "I know what she does is important. But sometimes I don't care if people get away with it. I don't care how many killers are walking the streets, as long as she doesn't have to track them. Pretty selfish, huh?"

Giles reached across and rested his hand over John's wrist. "Not selfish at all. I've felt the same way myself, many times."

They each turned their heads to look at the other, and understanding passed between them. Who else could appreciate what John was going through except someone who had been in his place before?

Giles withdrew his hand, and John set his coffee on the ground beneath his chair. He glanced over to the nurse's desk expectantly and then leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked at Giles for a moment before asking, "You think it's a choice?"

"Hmm?"

"You think they choose to save the world from bad guys and fight the good fight, or you think it's just in their blood, something they have to do no matter what anyone else thinks?"

The corners of Giles' mouth twitched into a wry grin. He had an unusual perspective on that question. "I think some things are too important to be left to chance. The things they do… I think they're Chosen for it."

John nodded, accepting that answer. Another long silence stretched between them before John spoke again, his head dropping down into his hands. "I wish she had never taken that case. She promised me she wouldn't take anymore serials."

"Serials?"

"It's been in all the papers. Those bodies that each turned up with the same symbol burned into them. She took the case over from Detective Cricks after the last body was discovered. She had a lead on a sorority on campus. That's what she was investigating when she disappeared. Maybe she was getting close to something or to someone. Cricks went back to check it out." John chuckled darkly. "He's a moron. He won't find anything."

Giles nodded absently. He felt sick to his stomach. The mark of Camela: the case he was researching. John's wife was up in surgery because Giles hadn't done his job, because he hadn't found the ones responsible yet. And they had hurt her.

A young woman, in her late twenties or early thirties, entered the waiting room, aiming straight for them. "Dad!"

John looked up. "Becky!" He stood and crossed to meet her. They embraced for several moments, and the young woman was crying. "I came as soon as I could. Liz and Kyle already left. They should be here in a few hours."

John nodded and wrapped one arm around his daughter's shoulders as he guided her over to the waiting room chairs. "Becky, this is my friend Rupert Giles, and his daughter Robin over there. This is my Becky. My eldest, and my first grandchild right here," he added with a hand to her flat stomach.

"Dad!" She pushed his hand away and blushed, brushing her hair back from her face and wiping her tears away with the back of one hand. "Not for more than six months."

"Here, have a seat. You should get off your feet."

She didn't argue, but made sure she pulled him down into a chair too. "Do they know anything yet?"

The smile left his face, and he looked back at the nurse's station. "So far, so good. She's still in surgery."

Giles felt distinctly uncomfortable, as if he were witness to a private moment. His friend didn't need him to be there anymore. His family was there, and more coming. Giles stood, and Robin was beside him in a moment, her small hand slipping into his.

"We should go. You'll be alright now, yes?"

John rose, and they awkwardly held out their hands and took them back until John simply stepped forward and embraced Giles in a firm hug. He released him, and with a parting pat on the shoulders, he thanked him sincerely for coming and sitting with him the past few hours.

"You're quite welcome."

Giles went home. He had research to do. Not just for Robin, but for John now too.

* * *

They took turns watching Faith all night. Dawn wanted to take a shift too, but Buffy didn't want her sister anywhere near the rogue slayer. So Dawn's job was to keep the children away from her, or Alex at least. Giles was pretty much the only one who could handle Robin. Dawn suggested that Spike could help, but Buffy and Giles both firmly nixed that idea. Although, they did bring in Xander for a little backup, something that Anya wasn't so keen on.

Whoever was up watching Faith would try the Council, but still no one ever answered. It was like that day after all the potentials had been attacked, something that worried both Buffy and Giles. She and Xander would sleep when they weren't on duty, but Giles didn't sleep. He spent that time researching the spell he thought would lead him to those who killed in Camela's name. Robin fell asleep curled into an armchair beside him, and he placed her in bed beside Alex and Dawn.

Morning came, and nothing had changed. Afternoon then, too. No one went to work. Anya minded the store. Dawn, however, was forced to go to school. John called to inform them that April had come out of surgery fine, but was still listed in critical condition.

It was after dinner before Faith stirred. It was Xander who was sitting with her, and he backed up about five paces when he saw her move. "Buffy!"

Buffy and Giles raced into the living room, and Xander cowered behind them, insisting that he and Faith had "history" and all that time in jail probably didn't help matters.

"Tell her I'm married," he requested as Buffy knelt at Faith's side. "Tell her I'm gonna be a father."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Faith?"

The other slayer's dark eyes opened. "B? Did I make it or is this some sort of hell place?"

"No, you're alive."

"Yeah, I guess hell would have homework and Sleepless in Seattle on repeat." She closed her eyes and licked her lips. "Fuck, I'm tired. I don't think this slayer healing thing's doing its stuff."

Buffy exchanged a glance with Giles. He removed his glasses and rubbed at his eyes tiredly. "It's possible that the blade that injured her was poisoned, perhaps with the same substance…" He replaced his glasses and shoved his hands in his pockets. "… uhh… the same substance that the Council uses," he finished awkwardly.

"Blade?" Faith protested hotly. "Thing was a big ass sword. Guy tried to put it through my chest. I'm lucky he only got my shoulder. Cramped quarters, really hard to fight in, even for a Slayer, know what I mean?"

Giles stepped closer, pushing Robin back when she tried to follow. "I was told the Council had increased security around you."

Faith tried to slide herself up the couch a little, gritting her teeth against the pain she had to feel in her shoulder. "Yeah, thank 'em for that sometime for me. Locking me up in isolation, where there're no witnesses, no one to call for help. Oh, and here's the best part: the guards still let your lawyer in to talk with you when you're in isolation."

"Your lawyer did this to you?" Giles exclaimed.

"Not _my_ lawyer, dumbass. Three guys in suits flashed their secret lawyer society decoder rings and got an hour pass into my room to beat the crap out of me. Don't know how he got the sword past security. The other two had cooking spray and lighters: portable flame throwers, which… well, hello, irony." Something unrecognizable flashed through her eyes, and she glanced down, smoothing the blankets around herself after she realized she was only wearing a bra.

Could that be guilt in her expression? Buffy wasn't sure she should believe the Karla Faye Tucker routine. Faith was, after all, the master of manipulation, the pro at mind games, the double agent and unrepentant Judas. Buffy had truly believed, all those years ago, that Faith had only played Angel, given him a flash of wide tortured eyes, a few tears of regret, a plea for redemption, all things that Angel, with his own past to atone for, would have no defense against. Could Buffy have been too quick to judge, blinded by anger and perhaps a touch of jealousy too?

Faith slid the blankets and her skirt gingerly up to mid-thigh. The side of her left leg had turned an angry red and blistered along her upper calf. "Payback's a bitch, huh?" she joked bitterly.

"Oh dear," Giles murmured. "We didn't notice the burns." He reached for the first aid kit they had left beside the couch and began tending them. Buffy restrained Robin from following, and the girl whined in protest, twisting her arm in Buffy's grasp. Faith seemed to notice her for the first time.

"So that's your kid, huh? Looks just like you, B." A pause, and a mischievous grin played over her lips. "What with the whining especially."

"This is Robin," Buffy said, ignoring Faith's barb. "Alex is upstairs with Dawn."

"Wow. Twins." Faith inhaled sharply as Giles applied cream to one especially tender spot. "Angel told me, but I always kinda thought he was having a big ole laugh at my expense."

Buffy scowled and crossed her arms indignantly. In doing so, she released Robin, who immediately crossed to her father, standing behind him and holding tight to his coattails. Buffy, however, was still fuming over Faith's comments.

"Why is it so hard to believe that Giles and I…? I mean, you haven't been here in a really long time-"

"Hey, hey." Faith held up one hand in surrender. "You want to get pelvic with your watcher, have at it. Better than that cool, undead, look-but-you-can't-touch package you had back in high school. Or that soldier Momma's boy Kylie or Riles or-"

"Riley."

"Yeah, him." Faith shrugged. "You don't have to defend yourself to me. Remember, B, I was a big fan of the younger, cuter watcher. You were the 'raise your hand if eww' vote. It's just a surprise to see such a one-eighty."

Buffy blushed, ashamed of her previous jabs at his expense. "I was 17," she protested. "It wouldn't have been exactly legal."

Faith smiled wickedly. "See? I knew it! All those times patrolling in high school, you played all innocent, trying to convince me you never thought about putting in a little personal training time with your watcher. I gotta know, B: slayers get all hot and bothered from the slaying… does that mean a good night's research makes watchers all horny?"

Giles cleared his throat emphatically and paused in his dressing of her burned leg. "Please, if you two could try and remember that I am standing right here."

A moment's silence. "Well, technically sitting," Buffy corrected.

"Yes, well, find something else to discuss."

"So that's a yes then, right, B?"

Giles had just finished wrapping Faith's leg. He sighed, closed the first aid kit with finality and exited the living room, Robin trailing behind.

Faith's eyes landed on Xander, noticing him for the first time. "Yo, Xander, you're quiet. No hello? No hostile banter?"

"I'm married now," he said nervously, pointing to his wedding ring. "Married man now." He took several steps back, gesturing between the two slayers. "You guys have a lot of catching up, I guess. So… yeah, three's a crowd." He turned and fled.

Buffy and Faith looked at each other and then away. An uncomfortable silence stretched between them.

"You could borrow some clothes," Buffy offered.

"That'd be nice." Faith covered the bandaged leg with the blankets. "So, who's the Mrs. Xander?"

"Anya. Ex-vengeance demon."

Faith chuckled. "He sure knows how to pick 'em, huh? Likes his women dark and dangerous, does he?" She thought for a moment. "Wait. Wasn't she the little blonde sex fiend I met when… well, when we switched?"

Buffy nodded. "She went to high school with us too, but you probably never met her, having turned all evil before that."

"About that… B, I never got the chance… I don't even know how to begin-"

"Don't." Buffy held up one hand to forestall the heartfelt apologies and pleas for forgiveness that could never make up for all the things Faith had done.

Faith let the matter drop and another silence fell between them.

"So why come all the way back to Sunnydale?" Buffy preferred to make the conversation a purely business discussion. "Angel and you are buds, right? And he's there in LA. Seems like that's the logical place to go after a prison break."

Faith licked her lips and considered her answer. "Angel and I are just friends. You know that, right? Nothing ever happened between us, and not just because of the curse."

Buffy shrugged. "None of my business, really."

"I don't think he ever stopped loving you."

"Also not my problem."

Faith sighed. "He would visit me in prison sometimes. Only one who would. I was his special project, I think. So yeah, I went there first, but they probably knew about Angel, and they had the place staked out. So, this was the only other place I could think of that wouldn't just turn me back in for the lawyer scum to finish off."

Buffy slouched back in her chair. "Makes sense. Of course, being a cop, I'm sorta obligated to turn you in. Harboring a fugitive could land me in a whole heap of trouble, probably more than the Council could fix, not that we're exactly on their good side right now anyway."

Faith sat up straighter, a momentary flash of pain crossing her face as she moved. "A cop? _You're_ a cop? That's rich. So are Sunnydale's finest still clueless as ever?" Faith studied her fellow slayer sideways. "You're not really going to turn me in, are you?"

"Eventually. Right now I'm just going to pretend I don't know you're wanted. Until we figure this all out, you're safer here."

They again struggled for a topic of conversation. "So where's Red?" Faith asked.

Buffy shrugged, not really in the mood to play catch up on the past five years. "Ever since Tara died, she hasn't been herself. Took it really bad. We don't see her much. I think we just remind her of everything." She stood abruptly, like a cat that suddenly needed to be in the next room. "So… clothes and something to eat. Right back."

Faith stopped her at the archway. "Hey, B."

Buffy turned. "Yeah?"

"I'm sorry 'bout your mom."

"Thanks."

"She was a real nice lady. I liked her. Never looked down on me, always treated me like I was worth something."

"Yeah, right up until you threatened to kill her."

Faith's eyes dropped to her lap. Buffy turned her back on the rogue slayer and marched upstairs.

* * *

Giles watched over her that night, something that Faith insisted was unnecessary. But Giles remembered how coolly she had looked him in the eye and told him that Buffy had killed that man in the alley, how her eyes had glittered with dark, primal hatred as she held the blade to Willow's throat while they traded the Mayor's box for their friend's life. He remembered, too, training with the girl. Buffy always knew his limit, pushed him only so far and then released him. With Faith, he had sometimes wondered if she forgot that they were only sparring. Giles was not about to trust this woman unguarded in the same house with his children.

Morning came, and Giles was working on his second night with no sleep. A stack of books rested on the table before him, three or four volumes open to various sections. His glasses hung from his fingers by their earpiece, his other hand massaging his tired eyes. Tomorrow he would finally have his shipment, delayed two days by a customs' raid on his supplier. Apparently not all of the man's Egyptian artifacts were legally obtained. Barring any further complications, tomorrow he would have the last component necessary before he could cast the trace spell on Robin.

Xander had gone home rather quickly after Faith regained consciousness, much to Alex's dismay. The boy was rather fond of his Uncle, perhaps because Xander was the only other man in the boy's life besides his father. Three visits in three years hardly ranked Hank Summers as any better of a grandfather than he had been a father. And Spike was not likely to be paying the child any visits in the near future. Giles thought again of John, that he would be a welcome role model for his son and that he hoped April would live and recover. John had said her condition was upgraded to serious, a promising improvement even if she hadn't yet regained consciousness.

He donned his glasses again, the triple pressure of Faith, Robin, and April driving him to seek answers. He felt almost as if he held their fates in his hands. Being responsible for Buffy, for a Slayer, was a heavy enough burden by itself. This was almost more than he could bear. It made him wish once more for Willow and Tara, for the ease with which the whole group had divided out the research between them and made his burden lighter.

Buffy slept upstairs. She had gone to sleep after patrol, offering to take a shift later, but Giles had seen no point in waking her, since he was up researching anyway. Faith slept most of the night, her body demanding rest for her injuries. But even still, he found her up and sitting across from him at nearly two in the morning. A slayer's restless drive for the hunt, he supposed. He wondered idly how Faith managed it in prison: not yielding to a slayer's natural desires.

She said nothing to him, nor had he expected her to. But he took the opportunity to clean and redress her wounds. They seemed to be healing nicely, indicating that whatever toxin had inhibited her slayer healing had likely worked its way out of her system. Perhaps in a day or two she would be well again.

She watched him as he researched for a while before she slipped silently back to the couch and back to sleep. So unlike Faith to be quiet and demure, without a smart-ass remark on the tip of her tongue. Perhaps the fact that she was not currently dressed in something see through or skin tight or that she was not plastered with enough make-up to make a French whore cringe skewed his perception of her somewhat. Or perhaps her time in prison had indeed changed her. She was there by choice, after all, and her own confession. She had just proved by her escape that the legal system had no power to hold a slayer against her will. So Faith had accepted responsibility for her actions and served her time by choice.

And yet Giles could not shake the memories of the last time they had thought her changed, had thought she accepted her fate. After killing that man and escaping the retrieval team, she had returned to accept the Council's rehabilitation. And had become nothing more than the Mayor's double agent. How could he trust her now? How could he believe that this was anything but another deception? The bitter irony was that this woman, who he had come to despise and fear and distrust, owned a fate intimately linked with his daughter's. Faith must live another sixteen years, or Robin would die a slayer's death. For that reason alone, he was forced to care about her fate.

Giles pushed aside his books and picked up the phone. Redial. No answer. Try again. He had rung the Council periodically throughout the night, but there was never any answer. A special ops team would be far better equipped to handle Faith than any of them. No threat of them harming her this time; the Council had no use for a three-year-old slayer.

A little after six in the morning, he found himself besieged by two sleepy toddlers. They each climbed up onto one knee, each with a thumb firmly planted in their mouth.

"Good morning."

Robin laid her head on his shoulder and began to doze off again. She would probably have slept another hour if she hadn't wakened to find him gone. Alex, however, was accustomed to mornings with his father, and as was their routine, the boy tried to steal a drink of tea.

"No, no, no. Let's have some breakfast, shall we?" He stood with a soft groan, not yet adapted to the weight of a child in each arm. He carried them into the kitchen and set them both down on the floor, having learned quickly that what he couldn't do for both, he had to do for neither. Alex felt displaced enough as it was, and playing favorites with Robin only made things worse.

The twins seemed to agree on pancakes, and Giles was still thankful enough that Robin was eating that he didn't much argue with whatever she chose. He was intent on his task, feeling her little hands wound into his pant leg, her little head leaning against his side, as he made the batter. It took him several minutes before he noticed that Alex was missing.

Giles' heart stopped, and he rushed to the living room in long strides. He paused at the threshold, unsure whether to move closer or stay back. Alex was sitting on Faith's stomach, showing her some drawings he had made.

"Alex," he called softly.

Faith was watching the boy through half-open lids. Her gaze flickered over to him in the archway. She smoothed back Alex's sandy hair as she held his father's eyes. The motion was tender, maternal, but there was something chilling about watching Faith perform the action.

"Alex, come here."

"Go on, short stuff." Faith nudged him off her stomach. "You can show me later." Her eyes reflected sadness as she looked at Giles, regret and disappointment even, that he didn't trust her with the children. Why should she have expected any different?

Then it occurred to him that she must have gone through her slayer heat as Buffy had. Faith must be aware now that she would never have children. To see that Buffy had both a son and a daughter must cut deeply for a woman so young who would never have her own.

"He's quite a friendly little guy," she commented, her eyes never leaving his.

"Yes," Giles agreed, swiftly taking his son's hand as the boy reached his side.

"City like Sunnydale… boy's friendly to the wrong person, he's liable to get himself hurt."

He couldn't read her expression. He wasn't sure he wanted to.

"Alex," he murmured. "Take your sister into the kitchen for breakfast. I'll be right behind you."

"Faith breakfast too?"

"No, son, not with us. Maybe in a little bit." He waited a moment until he knew the children were out of earshot. "Faith, if you ever, _ever_ lay so much as one hand on either of my children-"

She fidgeted slightly, her eyes growing wide in alarm. "That's not what… Jeez, I just thought you and Buffy would have taught your kid some street smarts, raisin' him up in Sunnyhell and all."

"How we raise our children is none of your concern. It happens that you are a guest in our home, and by virtue of that fact, Alex feels he can trust you." Giles didn't move closer. He didn't need to. Physical intimidation would be pointless with a slayer anyway. He narrowed his eyes, and then crossed his arms. "If you ever prove that child's trust misplaced… If you ever bring harm to either one of them, directly or indirectly… So help me God, I will turn you into a rat and feed you to the neighbor's dog."

He turned on his heel and strode into the kitchen, still fuming with anger and fear for everything the rogue slayer was capable of. She had tortured Wesley unmercifully. He had the dry and brutal account of it from Cordelia. And unlike Angelus, she had done it not for information, but merely for the sheer pleasure of it.

He wanted her out of his house. With shaking hands, he snatched the phone and tried the Council again, but still no answer. He slammed the damn thing back in the cradle. He wanted the Council to take her off his hands, out of his house, and away from his family.

Hopefully she would not see through his bluff. He chuckled slightly at his own audacity. He could not turn the girl into a rat or into anything really. He didn't have the kind of power that Amy or Tara or Willow had. Perhaps if he had stayed with Ethan, he might have, but he had neglected his magic for too many years to even aspire to such power. But Faith would not know that. She would be blessedly ignorant about the dark arts, with only enough knowledge of magic to fear it and hopefully, by extension, him as well.

"Hungry, Daddy," his son demanded, tugging on his pant leg.

Giles forced himself to smile and push back his anger. He lifted the boy into his arms, squeezing him tightly and kissing him soundly on the forehead. Robin soon clamored for attention as well, and he lifted her in the other arm, holding them both close for several moments.

Alex could not quite appreciate the tender moment Giles was trying to share with them. "Pancake," he whined insistently.

Giles smiled and sat them both on the counter, where they could watch him cook and he could watch them just as closely.

Morning passed uneventfully. Dawn went to school. Buffy and Giles stayed home with Faith and the twins. Alex seemed fascinated by the dark slayer, so much so that it was a full time job for someone to keep him from sneaking into the living room to watch her. He asked his parents questions they couldn't answer and even offered Faith Mr. Gordo to speed her recovery, as the stuffed pig always made him feel better when he was sick… that, and his father's soup and sleeping in bed with Mommy while she read Peter Pan. Buffy became strangely possessive of the stuffed toy, intercepting the gift and placing it on top of her dresser even as she placed Alex in his room.

Robin clung to her father's side even more so, perceiving his fear of this strange woman and copying it. She would not lay down for a nap with Alex as she had done for the past few days. So Giles lay down in the bed with her, intending to stay only until she fell asleep, but two nights of missed sleep quickly caught up with him, and he drifted off, his twins nestled on either side.

Dawn came home. She walked a thin line in Faith's presence. Dawn had been twelve when Faith came into their lives, and she had developed a serious case of hero worship. Sure, her sister was the Slayer, but Faith was a much cooler Slayer. Dinners at their house and catching the girls sneaking in after patrol only cemented the young girl's idolization. Faith would wink at her and tell her saucy stories when Buffy would leave the room. She had let her put on lipstick once, but Buffy had made her wipe it all off. And one time, Faith had even showed her a little kickboxing move guaranteed to bring any man to his knees. Faith and Xander were simply the two coolest people on the face of the Earth.

But Dawn had missed everything that came after, so she had no bad memories of Faith, nothing to make her fear her. Buffy had sheltered her from that, and so now it was hard to see and understand how the others treated the other slayer. She couldn't pick up the friendly teasing and comfortable relationship they had before. But neither could she hate Faith as Buffy and Giles and Xander seemed to. All she could do was keep Alex out of their hair. A part of her really hoped they could forgive Faith. Because if they could accept Faith, then there was the smallest chance that they could accept Spike, too.

Dinner seemed almost normal. Faith ate at the table with them, her shoulder healing quickly, the burns across her leg nearly gone. The conversation was strained, but not unbearable. Faith managed not to pick a fight. Buffy and Giles managed to be cordial. Dawn got a milk-out-the-nose laugh from Faith when she told her about Spike. The twins managed to distract everyone with their adorable attempts to replicate Faith's milk-out-the-nose feat.

The trouble didn't start until after dinner. It began with a hard rap on the door. Buffy and Giles and Faith exchanged glances. People who knocked were never people you wanted to let in. It could be the police, looking for their fugitive. Faith was ushered upstairs to sit with Dawn and Alex.

But it wasn't the police. It was Quentin Travers. Again.

Buffy crossed her arms and screwed her face up into an impressive scowl. "I thought you went back to England."

"I had business to finish first. My plane was to leave tomorrow."

Giles ushered the man into the house, angry for his own reasons. "I've been trying to reach the Council for two days. A fat lot of good you are if you won't answer your damn phones."

Travers seemed puzzled for a moment as he studied the two of them. Giles noticed then how haggard the older man looked and the circles carved beneath his eyes. Giles' demeanor changed, and he waved the other watcher into the living room.

"Quentin, what is it?" he asked softly.

The other man seemed taken aback, at a loss for words, truly a remarkable occurrence for one generally as composed as Travers. "You really don't know?" And then he laughed, a dark and humorless laugh. He made a slight tutting sound with his tongue, shaking his head, as he walked across to the television. "Not everything you need to know can be found in a book, Rupert. Generally American news is nothing but gossip and fashion, but if you cast an eye to it on occasion, you might be more informed."

He turned the set on and flipped the channels until he had found one of those 24-hour news stations. He turned up the volume and took a seat in a nearby armchair. "We shouldn't have to wait too long. It's still one of the leading stories."

Buffy flopped down on the couch, sliding Faith's bedding off to one side. "You know, I'm not exactly Patient Gal. Just spill already."

But Travers was fixated on Giles' expression. And Giles was fixated on the images on the TV. He dropped into a chair himself, pulling Robin up into his lap. Camcorder footage of smoldering ruin played across the screen; the banner scrolling across the bottom mattered little. Giles recognized the remains of this building. The newscaster voiced over the footage of men in protective suits picking through the rubble.

"Investigations continue in the UK after a series of explosions leveled buildings in London, Manchester, and Bath early Wednesday morning. The destroyed buildings all belonged to one organization, the C.O.W., a company dedicated to the collection and preservation of rare books and artifacts. Authorities have no lead yet on who might be responsible, if indeed this was a targeted attack. Sources involved in the investigation haven't ruled out the possibility that the company's own labs may have been responsible for the explosions, but deny allegations that these labs involved weaponry research of any kind. The most likely theory…"

Buffy stepped between him and the TV. "I'm not interested in lame official stories for whatever happened. I want the truth. C.O.W.? We are talking Council of Watchers here, aren't we?"

Giles was still focused on a spot just past Buffy, where he would see the images of the devastation on the television if she weren't standing in his way.

Travers answered for him. "Yes. The Council of Watchers. The public designation is slightly different, and its official purpose is as something like a private museum. The labs they speak of are on record as restoration facilities for chemically reconditioning damaged books and artifacts. Although off the record, we had laboratory facilities for alchemy and magic as well."

"Had," Buffy emphasized. "Had, as in it's all gone?"

Travers gestured with one hand to the television behind her. "You see what is left. Our headquarters in London. Our branch offices in Bath and Manchester. There is nothing left."

Giles swallowed hard, his glasses resting on an end table, one hand covering his face. "Survivors?" he asked softly.

There was a long pause before Travers answered him. "None." Giles looked up then and searched the other man's face. Travers repeated himself. "None… that I have been able to locate, at least. Even those who were not at any of the Council compounds were… hunted."

Giles replaced his glasses and absently touched his fingers to his mouth as he thought. "A spell? Like the one that located all the potentials?"

"Not nearly as difficult as that. Whoever- whatever- destroyed the Council complexes could have easily accessed our systems to locate the missing watchers before leveling the buildings. It wouldn't have been a huge undertaking to eliminate them after. Most of the watchers sent on assignment to potential slayers had already been killed in those attacks. Many of the senior watchers and the students were housed within the main headquarters themselves. The short of it, Rupert, is that you and I appear to be the only two they missed."

"Wesley?"

"Ah, yes. If you remember, he was fired for tolerating such insolence from his slayer. He is therefore no longer a watcher and no longer my concern."

"The special ops teams?"

"Weatherby's team had returned to the Manchester office after completing an assignment. Another team was at headquarters, training new members. A third… They managed to get a phone call out before they were likewise killed."

"What did they say?"

Travers snorted in frustration, scratching his head. "I'm not entirely sure. It was from a cell, and the reception was poor. I heard something about 'the beast' before we were cut off."

Giles slid Robin off his lap and stood, his hand darting out to the back of the chair to steady himself. He felt off balance, adrift. He found Travers' eyes again, trying to ground himself, to somehow make sense of all of this. "You are sure? That no one else…?"

Travers sighed. "No, I am not sure, but for the moment we should proceed under the assumption that you and I are the only two watchers left."

Giles nodded, distracted by his own thoughts. He felt Buffy's hand on his arm and glanced over to take in her concerned expression.

"Does that mean whoever did this will be coming after the two of you too?"

He knew that she was only concerned for his safety, but he felt irrationally irritated by her worry. His fate mattered little in the grand scheme of everything that had just happened. Perhaps she could not grasp the scope of the tragedy, because the Council had never been more than a faceless entity to her. She had not grown up among them, been trained by them, or devoted her life to their ideals. She did not know them by name or by reputation. They were simply the Council, and Travers was their mouthpiece. Her dislike of Travers had likely colored her perception of the entire organization. She could not know that most watchers were decent, honorable, and dedicated. Gwendolyn Post was an aberration. Wesley Wyndham-Pryce had been too desperate to climb out of his father's shadow. These were the only examples of the Council she had, and so she could not understand the depth of loss Giles felt at the destruction just laid before him.

Travers answered for him again. "Possibly. As head of the Council, my whereabouts are not filed in the database. As watcher to the active slayer, Rupert's would not be either, a safeguard against just such a contingency. If our attackers hunted us down through our own database, then the two of us may indeed be overlooked. A location spell, on the other hand, would leave us vulnerable. It would seem the wisest course of action would be to find and destroy the ones responsible before they can find us."

Giles pulled away from Buffy, lifted Robin into his arms, and made his way to the front door. He needed some air, some breathing space. "I'm going for a walk," he murmured and was out the front door before she could protest.

* * *

The door slammed, and Buffy looked towards Travers helplessly. "He shouldn't go by himself, should he? It's not safe, right? Especially with Robin."

Travers flicked off the television and stared at the blank screen for a moment. "Who knows? You have all the information I do at the moment." He sat in Giles' vacated chair. "Give him some time to think about it. This is a lot to absorb. The Council… the Council is gone. Bloodlines that trace back farther than the first Roman to touch Italian soil. The lines of watchers are simply gone." He shook his head, the breadth of it too staggering. "Only one potential slayer left. Two watchers. The Slayer is the instrument; the Council is the hand. Have all the contempt you like for us, Buffy, but without the Council, you would have never lasted a year."

Buffy bristled at Travers' speculation. "I did fine on my own for more than a year."

He chuckled, a condescending amusement reserved for a foolish child from a wiser adult. "You are an arrogant thing, aren't you, Slayer? Rupert was still your watcher in all but name. We could have pulled his green card in a second if we really wanted to leave you on your own. You see, you may have turned your back on us, but we never turned away from you. Did you really think we wouldn't keep tabs on you? Did you really think in all that time that Glory was the first your watcher ever contacted the Council for help? And when the Initiative folded, did you really think the government would just slink away and leave you in peace without a little persuasion?"

"You?"

Travers stood and strolled slowly across the room to stand in front of her, staring down his nose at her. "The Slayer is the instrument; the Council is the hand. We point you to your enemy, give you the information you need to destroy them, and clean up your messes when you screw up. Without us, you are nothing but strength and power, with no direction. Without us, you would not know who you are fighting or why."

She stood on her toes to bring herself nose to nose with this man. And he thought _she_ was arrogant? "Listen here: I've never liked you. You have an awful big opinion of yourself for someone who never actually gets his hands dirty. It may surprise you to know that I'm actually a pretty damn good slayer. I don't need a guy in a tweed suit to point me to a vampire or throw me a stake. I've killed more vamps and demons than you've had nightmares about. And even without the Watcher's Council, I can still get my job done. Tell me: without the Slayer, can you still get your job done? I don't think so."

Travers arched one brow. "Well, then, by all means go and perform your sacred duty. Remind me again: who are you hunting? Who killed the potential slayers? And the watchers? Who is even now searching for your daughter?" He smiled as she turned away from him. "No. I suppose you will have to wait for your _watcher_ to tell you that."

Buffy chewed on her bottom lip. She hated that smug jerk. She faced him again, not about to admit that he might have a point. "So, Information Guy, you think you're always one step ahead of us? So how come no one at the Council had any idea Faith escaped?"

That did seem to rattle his calm. "Faith escaped? When?"

"Two days ago. On Wednesday…" She trailed off and flopped down onto the couch. "Probably right after the Council went bye-bye. Okay, so maybe that doesn't prove anything. But, yeah, someone tried to kill her, and she escaped." Buffy sighed. She was so not winning this argument. And it quickly dawned on her that there was no need for everyone to hide out upstairs anymore. "Guys, you can come down anytime."

Dawn and Alex came down first, and Buffy really didn't like the way Travers was looking at her son. Like he had found himself a prize stud. His words about bloodlines and watchers echoed in her head.

"Don't even think about it," she warned him.

If he had planned to argue with her, the sight of Faith stopped him. They had never met, to Buffy's knowledge, but Travers clearly recognized her.

"You must be Faith," he said flatly.

Faith crossed her arms and swished her dark hair over her shoulder with a twist of her head. She sized up the aging, balding, overweight man with a sneer. "Watcher?"

Buffy confirmed her assessment. "Head watcher."

Faith rolled her eyes. "Look, you guys tried the taking me back to England thing twice now, and we both know how that worked out. So let's say we just save me the hassle of knocking your guys' heads in and call it a strike three for the Watcher's Council. I swear, I'm going right back to jail after we figure out who wants me dead and stop them."

A long silence from Travers was her only response, so Buffy decided to fill the others in. "You don't have to worry about them taking you to England. It's kind of gone." Travers glared at her, and she clarified. "Not _England_ England. That's still there. But the Council part of it's gone. Travers and Giles are it for watchers."

Faith seemed to consider that for a moment. She opened her mouth, then closed it, then tried again. "Wesley?" She tried to make it sound casual, but Buffy could hear the actual concern in her voice.

Travers answered stiffly. "Mr. Wyndham-Pryce is no longer a watcher. He is, I assume, just fine."

Alex stared up at the older watcher. "Don't go water," he told him.

Travers seemed puzzled by the boy's sudden statement and knelt down beside him. "What?"

Buffy would rather her son spent as little time as possible being sized up for casting in Watchers: The Next Generation. She scooped him up into her arms. "I think it's bedtime."

Travers stopped her with a hand on her arm. "He said the same thing to me in LA. He warned me about the water. Does he…? Does the child have any gifts for prophecy?"

Buffy felt her heart stop. She thought of his dreams about his sister, about the fire. He'd even known her name before they had. If Travers got wind of any of that, he would surely find a way to trap her son into a watcher's life. Especially now that they were such a rare commodity. "No," she answered firmly, meeting Dawn's stare and daring her to say anything. "Never."

She took her son upstairs and put him to bed.

Giles returned home shortly after, Robin asleep in his arms. He deposited her in the bed next to her brother. Buffy wondered why they even had beds for the children. He passed her by without a word and disappeared into the kitchen to make tea. She started to follow him, surprised when Travers intercepted her.

"What do you want?"

He lowered his voice to a whisper. "I thought I should remind you. You did remember that Giles' father was a watcher?"

"Yeah, and his grandmother too." Her eyes widened as she caught Travers' meaning. "His father… oh. I guess I always thought he was dead or something. Giles never talks about him."

"I don't imagine that he would. His father was an instructor at our headquarters in London. He would have been in the building…"

"Oh." She glanced back towards the kitchen. "Even if he didn't like the guy, losing your dad's got to be pretty wiggy."

Travers smiled at her turn of phrase. "Yes, quite."

Buffy turned back to the older man still holding her by the elbow. She had thought he was a smug jerk and pretty much insulted him from the moment he arrived, but was now beginning to suspect that she had been too hard on him. "Did you… lose anybody too?"

He let go of her arm and glanced down. "I was the head of the Council, Miss Summers. I lost more than I can count."

Buffy frowned. She wouldn't correct his use of her maiden name this time. She didn't know exactly what to say. "I'm sorry."

Travers met her eyes, and for once she thought she could see him as the man and not the position. "My grandchildren never showed the aptitude for a watcher's training, thank God. They were not in our database. My daughter worked in the Archives. My son-in-law was an alchemist."

"I'm really sorry. And I didn't mean to be so harsh before, but-"

"But I was banging on about duty and destiny," he finished. "And you were sick of hearing it."

She shrugged, ashamed that he had hit the nail on the head. "So how come you're here, talking with us, instead of…? I mean, after everything, wouldn't you rather…?"

"Of course I would rather. But all that talk about duty and sacrifice isn't just for trying to boss you around. It might surprise you to learn that I actually believe it. Watchers have a sacred calling, just as you have, to protect this world, and sometimes-"

"That means saying and doing what other people can't, what they shouldn't have to."

Travers nodded as she spoke. "Well said."

"Giles told me that once. We had a big argument about duty and sacrifice, the sacrifice being my sister, and he told me that. Kind of the watcher credo, huh?"

"Watchers and slayers must continue on into future generations, or this world is lost. Until we find and stop those responsible, I don't have the luxury of grief. And neither does he." He handed her a small slip of paper. "My number at the hotel. It's getting late, and you appear to have a full house. I'll continue tracking down my own leads. Call if there are any further developments."

"You just don't want to stay in the same house with Faith."

Travers smiled softly as he turned away. "Goodnight, Buffy," he called over his shoulder as he left.

Buffy cast an eye towards Faith, sitting cross-legged in front of the TV. The rogue slayer had found their Nintendo and was busy hooking it up. Maybe Dawn had shown her where it was. Her sister still had a soft spot for Faith.

She wandered into the kitchen where Giles was leaning against the counter, watching his kettle heat up. Dawn had joined him and was attempting to involve him in a conversation, without much success. Sometimes where Giles was concerned, her sister could see things more clearly than she could. Now that Travers had opened her eyes, it was obvious that Giles was overwhelmed and lost.

"Dawn, can I have a minute?"

Giles didn't seem to notice her leaving. Buffy laid a hand on his arm, and then he did look up. "I guess I'm kinda slow. I didn't even think about your father."

Giles chuckled darkly, his forehead creasing in thought. "Yes, my father."

"You've never mentioned him. I guess I thought he'd already died or something."

"Or something," he echoed bitterly. "I was a disappointment. After Eyghon and Randall, he wanted very little to do with me. We haven't spoken since I left to be your watcher."

"So he didn't know about us? About the twins?"

"I'm sure he received the information in a memo somewhere along the way." His expression softened when he caught sight of her concern. "Really, Buffy, I'll mourn very little for my father. He had a chance to be in my life, in our children's lives, but he couldn't bother to even call. I've long given up on the idea of mending fences with him. After Mother died, there was very little room in his heart for anything but his work. I always expected that his death was the only closure I would ever have."

Her eyes traced the lines across his forehead, the sadness that turned down his mouth slightly, the flecks of amber that swirled in his green eyes. She thought she knew him so well, but there were other times she felt like she didn't know him at all. "You never talk about your family. Or about anything from when you lived in England, really."

"It's in my past, very far behind me."

"I still want to know. It's part of what made you who you are today." She touched her fingers to his forehead, ran them down along the side of his cheek. He turned slightly from her touch. "Promise you'll tell me everything someday?"

"Someday," he assured her. "When the world isn't falling down around our ears."

She frowned. "Is that a sneaky way of getting out of it? 'Cause the world's pretty much always falling down around us." That earned her a wry laugh, and she wrapped her arms around him. She had spent so much time lately being mad at him about Robin that she had forgotten how wonderful it felt to simply be held by him. A shame that it took such a tragedy to make her get over herself. "Still, I'm sorry about your dad."

He held her tighter in his arms. "His loss, really, that he never knew what a wonderful woman I married."

She tipped her head up to meet his eyes. "Or what a wonderful son he really had."

Giles smiled and bent his head to kiss her quickly on the lips. The whistle sounded and startled them both, and he pulled away from her to remove the kettle from the burner. "Why don't you go to bed, Buffy? I'll be up for a while researching anyway."

"Uh-uh," she answered firmly, setting the kettle aside and taking him by one hand. "Three nights of research not allowed. You're going to get some sleep, Watcher-mine."

"Really, I can't."

"You can and you will. You were just complaining before Travers got here that you'd gone through everything you have three times already and still haven't found anything useful."

"Yes, but-"

"No buts." She took him determinedly by the shoulders and steered him towards the stairs. "You also said you're going to do this really important spell tomorrow, the one that will give us a clue who's doing this. I'm thinking it might be a good idea to get some sleep for that."

In the end he didn't argue with her, which was a good thing, because she was planning on being really stubborn.

* * *

Giles' hands shook slightly as he drew the circle. He couldn't remember ever being this nervous about performing a spell. Of course, back in the day with Ethan, they had all been too stoned and too arrogant to even consider the risks or the costs. And now the risk was too high, the possible cost too dear, that he would never have even considered performing it were the risks not greater in doing nothing.

Robin watched him from the couch, her eyes so trusting of him. She would be fine, he told himself. She would be fine. He would shield her with his own magic if he had to, but she would be fine.

Alex had been sent to Anya's along with Dawn. Buffy and Xander and Faith were upstairs, out of harm's way. He wished he could send his daughter away too, even if it meant she would scream for him for hours, but he needed her for this spell. The magic had touched her, and he would need her if he were to trace it back to the caster.

"Come here, luv," he whispered tenderly, one hand extended to her.

She slid off the couch and tottered over to him without hesitation. He framed her face between his hands and then leaned forward to kiss her on her forehead. Sitting back on his knees, he looked at her for several long moments, his eyes misting slightly at the thought of everything that could go wrong.

"You'll be safe, Robin. I promise." He said it more for his benefit than for hers.

He dipped his fingers into the bowl to his side, holding a concoction of things best not dwelt on. With his thumb, he drew a star on his daughter's cheek. On the other one, he drew the sun. Across her brow, he drew a straight line. She looked like an Indian warrior. Native American, he quickly corrected himself, with a fond smile for the memories that triggered.

He repeated the markings on his own face. Both of them now decked in red war paint. Fitting really, since this would be the first act of war. Or perhaps the war had already begun. One potential slayer left. The ranks of Watchers decimated. Perhaps this could be considered their counterstrike.

He knew he should think of his father, that he should feel grief or anger or something for his murder. But he had said goodbye to that man, boarded a plane to America, and given up hope of ever regaining the smallest measure of approval. If being chosen as Watcher to the active Slayer was not enough to redeem him, then nothing would ever please his father and to hell with him.

No, the sadness and grief he carried in his heart was not for his father, but for the others. Their faces drifted into his consciousness unbidden: a teacher he had respected, his roommate during his watcher training, friends he had made in his years spent with the Council. People he hadn't seen since leaving England. He thought of them, of April, of Robin, and even Faith as he made preparations for his spell. He did this for them, to protect them, to avenge them, but not for his father.

"Now, Robin, you must sit in this circle just like this." He illustrated a cross-legged pose, and she jumped into the circle and tried to mirror him. "Very good. Now I'm going to sit just like that in this triangle here. We're going to play a game. You'd like to play a game with me, wouldn't you?"

Her eyes lit up, and she nodded enthusiastically.

"Good. We're going to see who can stay inside their shape the longest, okay? So you can't move your feet outside the circle or your hands or even your nose. You have stay completely inside or you lose. Do you understand?"

She nodded again.

He hoped she understood. She couldn't break the circle during the spell or there would be dire consequences. That was the part that made him the most nervous. A three-year-old was terribly unpredictable to partake in magic, but he had no choice.

"I'm going to give you something to hold." He pulled out a small, shiny orb. It was the object he had needed to special order, the one he had been waiting on to perform the spell. He handed it to her, and she held it up to her face to look through it like a kaleidoscope. He pushed it back into her lap. "Now, Robin, I want you to just hold that in your hands, and I'm going to float it in the air like magic. Would you like that?"

Her eyes widened, and she smiled.

"Remember: you must stay in the circle completely or you'll lose the game, and I won't float the pretty ball anymore. Are you ready?"

She nodded, and he closed his eyes. He wiped the nervous sweat from his palms onto his knees. Slowing his breathing, he focused on the orb in her hands. He began the incantation for the spell and could feel the power in the orb thrumming in answer to his call. He could feel it lifting from her hands. She squealed in delight.

The final words of the spell projected his thoughts through it to her. It was as if the point of the triangle he sat in and the curve of the orb floating above her lap both narrowed and channeled his magic straight to her. He could see his daughter in ways beyond human vision.

He felt the touch of familiar magic surrounding her. Colors in deep burgundy and indigo. The smell of cigarettes and smog and incense. The taste of cheap liquor and even cheaper women. The feel of Chaos. Ethan Rayne. But that magic was old, clinging to her like the lingering cold of a midwinter morning. It was probably a holdover from when she was a baby. Ethan must have cast a spell on the twins. Maybe that's why they couldn't find her. Or maybe that's why they had found Alex. Either was a possibility where Ethan was concerned. He could trace the magic back to his old friend if he wished, discover where the man was hiding out now, what trouble he was stirring up, but he didn't really care.

More distressing to Giles now was the fact that Ethan's spell had not dissipated in over three years. Chaos still held her in its grip, warping the spell that Giles even now cast around her. He knew then, without a doubt, that Chaos had saved his daughter. He thought back to the series of coincidences and sheer luck that had prevented her from sharing the other potentials' fate that night. Not luck. Not coincidence. The hand of Chaos.

But Chaos could take as well as give, could destroy Giles' plans as easily as his enemies'. Chaos was a fickle master.

Giles couldn't counter Ethan's spell, not in the middle of another casting, but he knew his friend's magic intimately, enough to find a way around it. He reached past the Chaos and a whole range of sensation flooded him.

Black and white, gold and amber, sapphire and rose, peach and violets, loud and soft, deep and low, rushing, rumbling, melding, and merging. The hush of a lover's whisper, the crash of thunder, and the howling of a lone wolf. The feel of silk and rain and cool metal and warm sand coupled with the smell of burnt rubber and fresh flowers and sweat and perfume.

He gasped against the sensory overload. The spell was cast not by one, but by many, their essences weaving and meshing together into a jumble of competing voices.

He quieted his own mind and methodically unraveled the noise into separate threads. Thirteen distinct auras, and he followed them until they split in two directions.

He chose one path and followed it, the one that the greater number originated from. If necessary, he would follow the second path later.

He saw a house on a row he recognized from Buffy's college days. The spell came from right here in Sunnydale, from campus. He remembered then what John had said at the hospital: April had been following a lead on a sorority house on campus. He reached further to find them, the ones responsible. He expected to find demons, dark creatures plotting the end of the world. He never expected to touch the magic of another so familiar to him.

The smell of lilacs and lavender, pinks and oranges and all the colors of the sunrise, the smell of the library and dusty old books, the sound of light laughter and the soft click of deft fingers across a keyboard.

Willow.

He would recognize the feel of her magic anywhere.

His shock made him careless, made him drift too close, made him forget for a moment why he was there. It only took a second, and then it was too late. He had reached far enough for them to sense his presence. The eight strands of magic he had followed to this house now wrapped themselves around him in an overwhelming din of sight and sound and smell and taste and touch. He felt the flash of their anger and the awesome power of eight working as one.

A moment later and all was silence. He went limp as the tidal wave of power released him, allowing him to catch his breath. He blinked his eyes and looked around. This was not home. This was not the sorority house either. He sat in a massive cavern, stalagmites on either side of him, the roof far above. He knew this place.

Standing several feet away from him was Willow. He could sense the others in the distance behind her, but she was the only one here, if indeed they were actually there at all, if it were not simply an illusion.

Anger burned in eyes that had only held despair for so many months now.

Giles stood, brushing dirt from his trousers, the sound of his movements echoing around him. He studied his surroundings more closely. Yes, he knew this place. This was where Tara had died.

"You knew," she whispered, her voice cold steel.

"Willow, I don't know what's going on, what you've gotten yourself into-"

"Did I say you could talk?" She waved her hand, and his throat closed up. He could make no sound. "Sabrina told me, but I didn't want to believe her. I wanted to believe that the Watcher's Council was good, that you were good."

Giles rubbed at his throat, trying to make a sound, trying to speak to Willow, to reason with her, but her magic was strong. Dear Lord, he hadn't any idea how strong until this moment.

"The Council with all their secrets. They want to study power, to understand it and lock it up in a vault where no one can use it." She began to pace in front of him, and he followed her with his eyes. "Did they tell you to hide those books? Let her learn this much and no more?"

He shook his head, his eyes pleading with her to understand. He had done it to protect her, to keep her from delving into things she was not ready for, to stop her from making the same mistakes he had made with his power.

"They want to keep the strongest magicks to themselves, because everything has to be done the hard way, doesn't it? She'll just have to get over Oz like anyone else would. Tara too. Magic's just a cheat, a crutch. Good people never use it unless they have to." She stomped across the distance between them and grabbed him by his shirtfront. "Look me in the eyes. You knew. You knew, and you let her die."

Giles wrenched himself from Willow's grip. He didn't understand what she was talking about, but he couldn't voice his confusion.

"I told Sabrina that you didn't have that kind of power, but here you are spying on us. For them. I know what the Council did to the other four who bore our mark. Killed because you were all afraid of our power. And they'd do it to the rest of us if they could. But I won't let them. Or you."

She took several steps backwards and gestured to the ground with her hands. A circle of blue flame flared to life around him. He covered his face with his hands, spinning around to find that the flames completely enclosed him.

"When Oz left, you could have helped me with the magic, helped heal my heart. They did. The spell was simple and easy, and just like that the pain was gone. Just because something is simple and easy doesn't make it wrong. But I can tell you what _is_ wrong. Standing there and doing nothing when you have the power to make a difference."

She was shouting at him now with all the breath she had in her body. Giles had never been afraid of Willow before, but now he was very, very afraid. He shrank back as far as he could in the circle she'd drawn around him in fire. He tried to think of protection spells, shields, anything that didn't require a spoken incantation, anything he could do without voice.

"You stood there and let her die when you had the spell and the power to save her. You knew, and you did _nothing_."

He shook his head desperately. Is that what she thought? That he could have saved Tara and didn't? He gestured to his throat. She had to let him speak, had to let him explain.

He saw her eyes turn black as she lifted her hands. Power crackled in the air around her. Static and silence and the clean scent before lightning strikes.

His lips moved. He didn't know if the magic would work without voice, but he had to try. Somewhere very far from here his daughter sat inside a circle, his magic woven around her. He released her from it, untangled all the threads that held them together. He would shield her with his own magic. He had sworn it. He would shield her even if it meant he could not shield himself.

Her black eyes narrowed. Her voice quivered with her hate. "The Council can keep its secrets and its power all locked away where no one can use it. Because I have my own power, and you're about to taste it, old man."

With that she stretched out both hands towards him, chanting in Sumerian. He recognized the spell, recognized that it was so far beyond her, he wondered how she had ever learned it and what book she could have found it in. But then he felt the seven behind her, felt their magic join with hers into a perfectly woven tapestry. He solidified the shield around his daughter with every drop of magic he possessed. Willow's spell would not touch her. He would take it all.

The magic whirlpooled around him. He was at the eye of the hurricane, the center of the tornado. He braced himself against the onslaught. Willow's spell would not kill him. She was not so far gone for that yet. But he feared that her spell would be worse than a clean death. He feared it as every thinking person would. The nightmare of a whole mind locked inside a useless body. The power of eight spiraled around him.

Very far away in a house on Revello Drive, Giles' body screamed.

* * *

Buffy heard the scream and barreled down the stairs so fast, she nearly tripped on the last one, slayer reflexes or no. It was worse than she imagined. Giles was slumped over on the floor, unconscious, unmoving. Robin sat a few feet away, curled into a little ball, crying and rocking.

Buffy turned her watcher on his back, cradled his head in her lap. His eyes were closed, and he wasn't breathing. "Giles!"

She heard Xander and Faith behind her, but didn't turn to see them. "Oh God, oh God," she moaned. "I don't know what to do!"

Xander placed one hand on her shoulders, before easing Giles from her lap. "CPR, Buffy. Faith, call for an ambulance."

"I can't. I can't. You do it." Buffy's head was shaking, her hands pressed to her ears. All she could hear over and over again was the sound of her mother's ribs cracking beneath her slayer strength. She could still feel the coolness of her lips as she tried to breathe life into her mother's dead body.

"Faith, an ambulance now!" Xander was shouting, but Faith just stood frozen in the foyer. A moment later and she opened the door, running from the house. "Dammit! Buffy-"

"I can't. I can't."

Xander tilted Giles' head back and began breathing for him. Buffy crawled over to her daughter and pulled the crying girl into her lap. Less than a minute and Xander had him breathing on his own, his pulse strong. He leaned back against the coffee table and met Buffy's tear-streaked gaze.

"What do we do?" she whispered. "Do we call for help?"

"I don't know. The spell he was doing… did he mention anything like this?"

She shook her head, wiping the tears from her face, but more just spilled down after. "He said it would let him see whatever magic had touched Robin and trace it back to the person who did it. I don't know what's wrong with him."

"If it's magic, there isn't much a doctor could do." Xander snapped his fingers. "Willow."

She shook her head. "We've been trying for days. Giles thought she could help with the spell, but she hasn't returned any of our calls. What do I do, Xander? I don't know anything about magic. I can do the trancey meditation stuff, like the spell I did for my mother. Maybe that will work." Her eyes grew wide with hope, and she slid Robin from her lap to come closer to Giles. "I could maybe do that pull-the-curtain-back thing and see whatever spell is on him."

"And then what?"

Her face fell again. She was out of her depth. Giles was the knowledge guy. Travers was right: she couldn't do this alone; she couldn't do any of it without a watcher. She smoothed his hair back from his forehead tenderly and bent to place a gentle kiss over his mouth. She stayed like that for several moments before sitting up and meeting Xander's compassionate gaze.

She shrugged. "I thought maybe… I don't know… Sleeping Beauty or something. Silly, huh?"

Robin crawled closer to her father then, coming between her mother and him. The girl probably understood about Sleeping Beauty, because she bent to kiss him too. She frowned when nothing happened and studied him very seriously. One hand poked him in the side a few times, and then a little harder, trying to make him move.

Robin sighed and lay down beside him, her head resting on his shoulder. Very softly she said, "Giles."

Buffy dropped her head in her hands and began to cry in earnest. It was the first word her daughter had spoken since coming home.

Next: Part 8: The Long Sleep


	8. The Long Sleep

ORIGINALLY POSTED: December 8, 2001  
TITLE: The Family Business  
AUTHOR: JK Philips  
RATING: PG-13 (swearing)  
SUMMARY: After the events of The Ticking Clock, Buffy and Giles are still looking for their  
daughter. Can they save her from a terrible fate?  
SPOILERS: Everything up to "The Gift"  
DISCLAIMER: I do not own these characters; they are the property of Joss Whedon,  
Mutant Enemy & Fox. I simply am doing this for fun, and non-profit use.  
SECOND DISCLAIMER: Here are the works I stole quotes from: The Tell-Tale Heart and  
The Raven by Edgar Allen Poe.

* * *

Part 8: The Long Sleep

They argued back and forth about what to do with Giles. Buffy wasn't sure they should move him, wasn't sure it wouldn't affect whatever magic was on him, wouldn't make it more difficult for them to help him later. Xander didn't think the spell Giles had cast was the issue. Robin was fine and had left her circle without repercussions, and the orb had shattered. He thought this was something else entirely.

"Because you're the big expert on magic?" she snapped.

"No, you're absolutely right. Let's just leave him on the living room floor. Dawn and Alex will love that when they come home. We can use him for a coffee table."

She started crying again, and Xander just held her for several minutes until she calmed. Through everything, Robin simply lay beside Giles, her head on his shoulder.

In the end, Buffy relented and agreed to move him upstairs. Maybe he would be more comfortable in the bed, and it would at least save Alex the pain of seeing his father like this. Between Xander and Buffy they arranged the watcher in his bed. Buffy took a dish of water and methodically washed the paint from his face. Xander raised his eyebrows.

"What?" she replied defensively. "We already moved him, so this can't hurt anything. Besides, you didn't see the stuff he used to make it. Blaghhh. I don't think he'd want that on his face all night."

Getting the stuff off Robin proved more challenging. She squirmed impressively and started kicking and screaming if Buffy pulled her too far from Giles. She finally had a clean face, and Giles probably had a sprinkling of bruises across his sides and arms from his daughter's frantic struggles.

Finished with all of those details, they were still left with the same dilemma as when they started: figuring out what spell Giles was under and breaking it.

Buffy felt helpless. Give her an enemy to fight, and she could maybe do something. But she could no more do magic than she could read Greek or translate Arabic or do any of the things that Giles, as her watcher, did.

Worse than that, she didn't know who to ask for help. Their crack Slayerette team had slowly dissolved: Tara dead, Willow wanting nothing more to do with the slaying, Anya too far along in her pregnancy to even dare magic, and she and Xander useless for what needed to be done.

Buffy sighed. What they needed was Giles. He had picked up the slack for each missing Scooby. Now, without him, there was no one to research, no one to cast spells.

She sat on the bed beside her husband, holding his hand and brooding miserably over a myriad of what-ifs and should-haves. Robin sat on his other side, still occasionally trying to rouse him with determined prods to his side and soft pleas of his name. Xander watched over both of them silently.

Finally she could take no more. Angel was the mopey brooder, not she.

"Xander, find Willow. Go to her apartment, ask her professors, whatever you have to do. Just find her."

"What are you going to do?"

"Call Travers." She pulled out the slip of paper with his hotel number. "I don't know how much good he'll be, but he's a watcher, right? He's pretty much all I've got right now."

Xander nodded, agreeing with all of her plans so far. "So what do we do about the escaped psycho? She pretty much booked it at the first opportunity."

"Faith?" Buffy shrugged, reaching for the nightstand phone and punching in Travers' number. "At this point in time I'd offer her an all-expense paid trip to hell, but lucky for her I don't have the time." The operator answered, and Buffy gave him the room number. "Right now all that matters is Giles," she finished to Xander. After several rings, she frowned and hung up. "Hmm… Travers isn't in. Okay, maybe Anya could help." Off Xander's look, she clarified. "With the research part, not the magic part. After all those years of experience casting terrible spells on men, maybe this one will be familiar."

* * *

"Not a clue," Anya declared, standing beside the bed, staring down at Giles. "Vengeance spells are a little more dramatic, more messy. Maybe if he had boils or if someone had shrunk his…" Anya peeked under the blanket covering him. "Maybe you should take his clothes off and check."

Buffy sighed and leaned back against the bedroom wall. "No, I don't think there's anything physically wrong with him."

Anya dropped the blanket again. "This isn't like anything I've ever seen." She brightened. "Oh, except once I cursed this man so he would always fall asleep in the middle of sex." Her smile faded. "But you and Giles weren't having sex. You haven't had sex since before this whole finding Robin, giving her up, getting her back, and her not wanting you thing."

"Anya!" Buffy glanced towards her daughter, blushing and feeling both embarrassed and irritated. "That is _way_ not open for public discussion… and… and I can't believe you… I mean, how do you know?" She leaned closer, her voice lowering. "Giles doesn't talk about… stuff, does he?" She shook her head, dismissing the whole conversation. "Never mind. It's really none of your business."

Anya laughed. "_Please_, Giles can hardly stand to hear about it. Like he'd ever talk about it. And it is so my business. Your sex life… or lack of one… directly impacts my work environment. He gets all grouchy and makes me double check the inventory database."

"Anya," Buffy said, with more patience in her voice than she had in her heart. "Can we get back to figuring out how to help Giles?"

Anya frowned in concentration. "Are you sure he's not just sleeping? He hasn't really gotten a full night's sleep in a while, you know." She leaned down, barely an inch from his face and shouted, "GILES!"

Buffy pulled her back by the arm. "He's not sleeping."

Robin seemed to think it was worth a try, too, and began chanting loudly in his ear, "Giles, Giles, Giles!" She punctuated each repetition with a petulant jab to his side.

"Although, he's probably going to be deaf soon." Buffy perched on the edge of the bed, reaching across to still the child's hands and pull her to Giles' other side. Robin didn't protest sitting in her lap or the rhythmic caresses through her hair. "Robin, honey, Daddy's going to sleep for a little while."

She blinked up with wide blue eyes, so like Buffy's own. "Why?"

Giles had tried so hard for so many days now to break her silence. She was finally speaking again, and he couldn't even enjoy it. And of all the conversations Buffy had imagined having with her little girl, this had not ranked among them.

She brushed the girl's long hair back behind her shoulders, smiling kindly. "There's a spell on him, and we have to figure out how to break it."

Robin looked back towards her father, frowning. This must be a lot for a child her age to process. Finding the lines between fantasy and reality blurring beyond detection was often more than most grown-ups could handle. Hence the citywide epidemic of repression. Buffy was fifteen when she became the Slayer. She couldn't imagine what it would have been like to be raised to it like Kendra, or surrounded by it like Robin and Alex. Alex, at least, had the security of an almost stable home life and a circle of devoted family. Robin had lost her whole world. Giles was the center she clung to. Now, to lose that center too… Buffy didn't have the slightest idea how to reassure the girl. That was another thing that Giles would know. He would know what to do for Robin. He would know what book to look in and what spell to try. He would know how to quiet Buffy's own fears and how to prepare her for what she needed to do. Buffy knew nothing.

Robin looked up again at her mother, her forehead still furrowed with her concentration. She asked quietly: "Bad witch? Bad spell?"

Buffy nodded slightly, quiet for a moment as she tried to maintain control over her emotions. When she was sure her voice wouldn't break, she answered. "Yes, a totally evil spell. But don't worry, honey, we're going to undo it, and then he'll be all better."

Robin seemed to accept this and crawled out of Buffy's lap to cuddle against Giles' side. Buffy wondered if she had just lied to her daughter. Yeah, they would undo whatever had been done to Giles. Piece of cake. Just like they would de-rat Amy. Here it was almost seven years later, and all they had accomplished was the assembling of the world's most impressive Habitrail.

Buffy leaned down to kiss her daughter's forehead, and then reached up to smooth back a few stray curls of hair from Giles' brow. She wanted nothing more than for him to open his eyes and smile and tell her he'd had a nice nap. What if she never got to look into his eyes again?

"Robin, Aunt Anya and I are going in the hallway to talk. Will you be okay here with Daddy?"

She nodded.

Anya led the way, and Buffy shut the door carefully behind her. Alex loitered in the hallway, scuffing his feet against the baseboards and staring intently at the closed bedroom door. She squatted down eye level with her son.

"Hey, Little Rabbit, what're you doing up here?"

He shrugged, rocking on his feet and tugging on the zipper of his light spring coat. She reached across, unzipped, and peeled off his jacket. He cast a lingering glance over her shoulder as she did. Buffy turned to follow his eyes, staring at the closed bedroom door now too.

"Daddy sick?" he asked.

Buffy lifted her son into her arms as she stood, hanging his jacket on the stair railing for now. She saw Giles' eyes looking into hers, and she ached all the more for it. "Daddy did some magic, and now he's sleeping. But Mommy and Xander and Anya and Dawn are going to find some more magic to wake him up. Okay?" Buffy carried the boy downstairs, glancing around the living room and into the dining room for Dawn. "Where'd Dawn go?" she asked her son.

He pointed towards the front door. "Ou'side."

Buffy had a sneaking suspicion where her sister might have disappeared to, but she was so not in the mood to worry about it right now. She looked over her shoulder to where Anya had followed to the bottom of the stairs. "Could you watch the twins for me? Until Dawn or Xander get back? I'm going to find Travers."

"Sure. Kids like me." Anya smiled and stroked her rounded stomach. "I've been researching entertaining and educational activities for different age brackets. I can think of seventeen different games that they should find enjoyable."

Buffy frowned. "Really, you don't have to entertain them. Maybe just make sure they don't get into too much trouble." She looked back and forth between her son and Anya with some amount of trepidation.

"Come on, Buffy. Giles brings Alex to the shop everyday. And he sticks me with kid-watching duty every time he has a prophecy to hunt down or some fascinating demon to research. Alex and I are buddies, right, kiddo?" Alex nodded eagerly. "Also, I'm much more strict than Xander. They'll be fine. And well behaved and orderly. It'll be like the Von Trapp family with the whistles."

Buffy frowned again, before setting her son on the ground. "You'll be good for Aunt Anya?" The boy agreed happily. "And do whatever she says?" Another affirmation. "And remember that she can't pick you or Robin up right now?"

Alex sighed and nodded, clearly tiring of these questions.

Buffy steered him towards the living room. "Your father's going to kill me for this, but I think this is the perfect time for a little cartoon marathon." She found something acceptable, and her son was immediately glued to the set, every bit the pop culture addict that his mother was and his father abhorred.

She walked back to the foyer, talking softly to Anya as she slipped on a light coat. "Just keep an eye on them. I don't think Robin will leave Giles' side. Keep checking on them and see if you can't find something for her to do while she's in there. If anything happens… If Giles… Well, call an ambulance if you have to, but I'd rather have him here at home." She spared one last look for her son. "Try and keep Alex from sneaking into the bedroom. Seeing his father like that would only upset him."

"Go get 'em." Anya slugged the Slayer in the shoulder. "Good luck finding Travers. I hope you both find a spell to help Giles."

Buffy smiled weakly as she opened the door. She paused in the doorway as she thought of something else. "If Dawn gets back before I do, don't let her out of your sight."

* * *

Spike heard his crypt door bang open behind him, but didn't bother to turn away from the TV. He hoped it wasn't the watcher again. He wasn't in the mood for another trip to the hardware store for tinted windows. Not to mention that he was in the middle of a really good show.

"Back for another round of wail on Spike?"

"No." The voice was soft and far more feminine than even Spike would ever accuse the Watcher's of being.

He turned, his heart in his eyes when he saw her. "Dawn!" He jumped up from the battered couch, but stopped just before touching her.

Her eyes were sad and hurting. The smile left his face, replaced by concern and sympathy and just a touch of anger for the bastards who claimed they loved her at the same time they caused her such pain. He reached out one hand to cup her chin in his palm.

"Sweet Bit, I'm sorry. Shoulda never let them stand between us."

Her long fingers wrapped around his wrist, pulling his hand from beneath her chin and up to rest against her cheek. His thumb brushed across her cheekbone as he bent to kiss her tenderly on the lips. So soft, so innocent. She was the only taste of heaven his demon could ever hope for.

He pulled away slightly, hoping to have erased some of the sadness from her eyes, but only finding it etched deeper in her face. A warm tear slipped between his fingers, and he wiped it away. "You gonna tell me about it, or you gonna cry me a river?"

Her eyes closed, and she took a deep breath. "It's Giles."

He spun away from her, shaking his head. He felt the bloodlust rise in proportion to his anger. Damn this sodding chip. Who wouldn't he love to kill right about now?

"Damn watcher. Always sticking his nose where it doesn't belong. I've half a mind to rip it off his face and-"

"Spike!"

He faced her again, stopped mid-rant by the desperation in her voice. "I take it you didn't give them the slip so you could commiserate 'bout how much you missed me?"

She shook her head.

"Big bad on the prowl?"

Dawn shrugged and walked slowly towards him. "Giles won't wake up."

Spike took her by the shoulders and guided her toward the couch where they both sat. She stayed still for several moments, her head bowed, and he brushed her long auburn hair back so he could see her face. Poor Niblet. Watcher may be acting like a real prick right about now, but even Spike had to admit that the man had been a better father to Dawn than her own miserable excuse for a sperm donor. Dawn did love Giles. If she didn't, she wouldn't have cared so much what he and Buffy thought, would have just packed up and disappeared into the night with her vampire boyfriend. And Spike wouldn't have argued with her one bit.

He cocked his head to one side as he studied her. "He have a stroke or something?" Spike realized that the man was mortal and not exactly in his prime, something the others seemed to overlook in light of Buffy's slayer lifespan.

She shook her head, more tears spilling down her cheeks. Spike scowled and got off the couch, striding to the other side of the crypt to light a cigarette. He really didn't know how to handle weepy women. Except when he was killing them. Then he had always appreciated the tears.

"He get knocked on the head again? Twelfth concussion comes with a free coma sort of deal?"

"No," she managed between sniffling sobs.

Spike took a drag off his cigarette, cursing his sharp tongue. He was only making things worse for Dawn, and he didn't know how to stop.

"You said you wouldn't do that anymore," she said softly.

He kicked a rock across the room, frustrated with himself. "Sorry, Niblet. More than a hundred years of mouthing off's a pretty hard habit to break." He followed her gaze to the lit cigarette in his hand. "Oh, _that_." He stomped it out beneath his boot. "Yeah, a hundred years of that's pretty hard to break too." He crossed back to her, kneeling in front of the couch. "Look, whatever you need, I'm your guy. You need me to bash anyone's head in, I'll be more than happy to oblige." She gave him a somewhat soggy laugh, and he took her head between his hands, pressing their foreheads together. "You need a shoulder to cry on, I can do that too. Coat may be leather, but it's waterproofed." He wiped off her tears with the back of his hand. "You need me to come back with you, I'll even risk a staking by big sis."

She smiled bravely for him, and he kissed her fiercely on her forehead, and then looked deeply into her eyes. "So you gonna tell me what's what or we gonna play twenty questions all night?"

"Giles was doing a spell," she told him.

And then Dawn filled him in on everything he had missed over the last two weeks. Apparently he had missed a lot. Everything from reclaiming the missing twin to the slaughter of all potential slayers save one to the destruction of the Watcher's Council.

Dawn was calm by the time she finished, but Spike was sprawled out on his side of the couch in shock. "Bugger. Kill all the potentials, kill the Slayer, no more slayers. Wish I'd thought of it." He caught her wide-eyed glare out of the corner of his eye and coughed. "Back when I was evil. When I liked doing evil things. Not now of course." He stood and started pacing in front of her. "The Watcher's Council. Now that's something else entirely. They got the potentials; they made a try at Faith. All they got to do now is finish off the littlest slayer and Faith, and they win. What's their gripe with the watchers?" He stopped pacing as he considered and then dismissed his own question. "'Sides thousands of years of trying to wipe our kind out of existence, that is?"

Dawn shrugged. "Giles was researching it. Thought he could figure out who was doing all of this by casting a spell on Robin."

"Looks like that worked out splendidly." She seemed near tears again, and Spike knelt down in front of her once more, tipping her chin up to look him in the eye. "We'll figure it out, Lil Bit. Give the man some credit. He's stronger than you think."

She held his eyes with her own, silently pleading with him. "You can help him, right? You've done magic, Spike. You can figure out a spell for Giles."

He shook his head, flashes of a dream spiraling through his skull. _Just an itty-bitty spell, Spikey. And then he'll give you the Key to your happiness._

"I can't do magic, Dawn."

"But… but… That time in New Orleans and that guy with the-"

"Just stories. I was only tryin' to impress you, and all those 'I killed the whole family' stories were wearing a bit thin."

"So you lied to me? None of those things really happened?"

He turned away from her, ashamed now. "No, they all happened just like I said. 'Cept Dru was the sorcerer, not me. I'm no better of a magician than a poet, or an evil vampire for that matter." He faced her again, his mind searching, his heart desperately wanting to help her. "Why don't you get Red to do her mojo on him?"

"Xander went looking for her, but… Ever since Tara died…" Dawn trailed off, and Spike finished.

"Red hasn't been the eagerest bestest Wiccan in Sunnyhell. Cracked her crystal ball, if you ask me."

"Spike, please."

"Now look here, Platelet, I know you're fond of the witch, but ever since Glory, you've all turned a blind eye to the kinds of stuff she's been dipping her hands into. I know it's no longer my place, and my Scooby membership has probably been permanently revoked for the unforgivable sin of loving the Slayer's kid sister, but this affects you, and so I can't just keep my mouth shut.

"The kind of power Red has… it seems like a good thing to have around for puttin' up invisible walls to keep out armies and puttin' souls back in bodies and creepin' through mansions in India without makin' a sound. But there's a price for that kinda power. You get a taste for it, and it's not so easy to go back to pig's blood, if you catch my drift."

"Willow stopped doing magic for months."

Spike stood and strolled away from her, stopping to lean against the sarcophagus, his back to her. He feared very few things in his unlife. But in the past few years he had discovered one of the drawbacks to caring about mortals: they inevitably died. Even Dawn, who wasn't a slayer, would eventually be laid into the ground. He just would rather it were many years from now. The thought that he could lose her at any moment, that something could happen to steal her away now rather than later, that was one of the few things that a vampire such as he could still fear. He looked over his shoulder at her. She was watching him, waiting. He wondered why he even had to explain it to her, why they hadn't seen it even before Tara died.

"Just bottling it up. Mark my words: the fallout's coming, and when it does, you'd be wise to reach a minimum safe distance."

Dawn crossed her arms defiantly and stood. "Willow would never hurt anyone."

"No? The minute Glory brain-sucked Tara, she went charging in, throwing every wicked bit of power she had at the bint. Red went up against a _god_, Dawn. And now Tara's dead. How much more pissed off do you think she is?" He sighed and lowered his eyes. This conversation was going nowhere fast. "I just don't want anything to happen to you is all."

He heard Dawn's soft footsteps on the cold dirt of the crypt floor. He heard her with his vampiric senses: each tentative footfall, the quiet breaths, and the steady thrum of her heartbeat. So he didn't startle when he felt her hand slide up his stomach, across his chest. He just reached up and laid his own hand over hers.

"I'll be careful, Spike. I promise. And I'll make sure Buffy has a talk with Willow. But… we still need to help Giles. Now. And we can't find Willow, and Anya's having a baby, so no magic allowed, and with Giles unconscious and Tara… dead… well, that's it for magic-type people in the gang."

_Ding-dong, the witch is dead, and you'll have to play with her toys while the Watcher sleeps._

He still heard the faintest echo of Dru's voice in his head, and he wondered if she had truly visited him in his dream, or if it had all come from his own mind. He wasn't sure which answer he wanted to believe.

"Please, Spike."

He traced the curves of her face with his eyes and squeezed her hand slightly. "Sure, Lil Bit, I'll do my best."

* * *

Willow curled up on her bed, sobbing. This betrayal hurt worse than she could have imagined. She hadn't wanted to believe Sabrina, but it all made too much sense to ignore. Travers had always given her the creeps, and all those watchers poking their noses around the Magic Box like they owned the place and asking all those questions like the Spanish Inquisition. She remembered how that Indian watcher had interrogated them, Nigel something or other. _And you're registered as practicing witches under the names as you gave them to me_?

Registered so they could be watched.

Willow had been down with the hurrahs and the go-Buffy's after the Slayer's standoff with the Council: getting Giles reinstated and putting those self-righteous prigs in their places. But now she wondered if being brought back under the wing of the Council had been a victory.

It made sense that the Council would want to monitor those possessed of power, would want to keep them from becoming too strong or learning too much. They were like the mob… the occult mob… the English occult mob with tea instead of booze. Willow knew they killed when they felt it necessary, and not just demons. The special ops team had come for Faith after her coma. Giles had said the special ops performed the dirtier work of the Council: smuggling, theft, wetworks. Wetworks: a nice clean word for murder, the kind of word you could use while discussing it over tea.

Four bodies so far, all bearing the mark of their group, all murdered. The Council was afraid of them. Thought they were getting too powerful. Sabrina warned her to be careful. But even if Willow could believe what the Watcher's Council was capable of, she hadn't been able to believe it about Giles. He may be a watcher, but he was her friend. If he'd had the power to save Tara, he would have. But he didn't have that kind of power, or at least she had thought he hadn't. He'd proved her wrong and Sabrina right with his little peeping Tom spell.

And it hurt. Hurt more than she could bear to be betrayed by those she had trusted.

"Willow."

Sabrina's voice startled her slightly, but she didn't move. The semi-darkness hid her tears, but not the desperate catch in her voice with each breath.

"Willow, I'm sorry about your friend. I was really hoping that I was wrong about him. But you can't keep beating yourself up about it. It's not your fault. He had you fooled."

Willow pulled herself up, her back pressed to the wall, her knees drawn up to her chest. "God, Sabrina, did you feel his power?"

Her friend sat on the bed beside her, a sympathetic frown on her face. "Yeah."

"I mean, I've done a spell here or there with him, but nothing like that. I had no idea he could…" Her eyes grew distant, her heartbeat pounding in her ears. "He could have saved her, couldn't he?"

Sabrina shrugged and looked down at her fingers. "Maybe there's some kind of watcher rule about-" Willow cut her off with a seriously intense look, her old "resolve face." Sabrina finished in a whisper. "Yeah, he probably could have."

Willow started sobbing again, dropping her head to her knees. She felt Sabrina scoot over on the bed, her hand softly resting on her shoulder. "You couldn't have done things any differently, and you can't change things now. You can't blame yourself."

"I don't. I blame him. I hate him."

"You don't hate him."

"I do." She wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. "But I should… I can't just leave him like that. I should…"

"Willow." Sabrina waited until their eyes met. "You were very brave. You saved us. If you hadn't done that, the Watcher's Council would probably have taken more of us by now. It's up to you, but if you let him go, he'll just tell the Council and they'll send others."

Willow nodded reluctantly, not trusting herself to speak.

Sabrina rose finally and slowly walked towards the door. She paused with her hand on the doorknob, frowning slightly. "I've been thinking. That was a pretty close call. And we haven't always been so lucky. Maybe it's not safe here anymore. I think we should all just go. Just in case. And then when we're settled someplace else, someplace safer, you could undo the spell, after we're sure he can't find us again."

The door closed, and Willow slid back down, curled into a ball on the top of her bedspread. She was doing the right thing. She had to keep reminding herself of that. She was protecting her friends, practically her family now. But if this was the right thing to do, why did she feel so terrible about doing it?

* * *

Alex waited until he heard Anya close the bathroom door before sneaking up the stairs. She went to the bathroom a lot. He paused outside his parent's bedroom, his ear pressed to the door, listening for a moment before he stretched on tiptoes to reach the knob.

He entered hesitantly, unsure what he would find. Robin sat cross-legged on the bed with an assortment of coloring books and crayons. His father looked like he was sleeping. Alex climbed onto the bed, then bounced on his father's chest with a timid smile. He waited for his father to groan or to crack his eyes open or to suddenly grab him and tickle him. Alex bent over to give little Eskimo kisses on the nose, waiting and watching, but his father didn't move.

"Sleepy Giles," Robin informed him bluntly.

Alex looked over at her, and they stared at each other in silence for a long time. He hadn't expected his sister to talk, but neither did it shock him all that much. He just accepted it, like he accepted the blue crayon she offered out to him. They sat on either side of their father and colored pictures of houses and trees and flowers and a big beautiful sun suspended in a clear blue sky.

* * *

It was Anya who took care of the details for Giles. Buffy came home to find that a nurse had already visited, and would be by three times a day for as long as needed to take care of Giles' physical needs. Home hospice care. Anya had made up some story, and the agency hadn't questioned her when she paid in cash.

Buffy knew she should be thankful for Anya's practicality, but she resented her initiative. Arranging medical care for him meant that Anya thought he would be like that long enough to need it. Buffy was still holding on to the hope that he would wake in time to fall asleep in her arms that very night, for once not curled up on opposite sides of the bed as they had been for two weeks now. Seeing him lying so still and pale, an IV slowly dripping into his arm… Buffy choked back her tears lest she break down in front of the children.

They moved the television into the bedroom, because it seemed more traumatic to try and keep the children from their father than to simply let them stay beside him. A part of Buffy wondered if a nonstop marathon of Barney and Sesame Street might be just the thing to coerce Giles out of his unnatural sleep. At least it kept the twins occupied. They had already tried their hand at a crayon mural for the bedroom wall when Anya wasn't watching.

Buffy halfheartedly leafed through the stack of books Giles had left on the dining table. Travers was a no-show. He had checked out of his hotel, in a hurry apparently. Too much in a hurry to let the Slayer know where he had gone. She wondered if it was spite or pride or simply the habit of years of answering to no one, of having the invisible ranks of watchers working beneath him, ready and able to take her call.

Xander's mission was also a bust. Worse than that, actually. Willow was not at her apartment, her apartment in fact being vacant. No one had any idea where she might have gone. No forwarding address. Even her professors had no idea where to find her. Apparently she had taken personal leave from her master's program.

So they were no better off than when they had started. They all ended up sitting in the master bedroom: the twins on either side of Giles, Buffy sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning against the headboard, Anya reclining in a rocking chair, her feet resting in Xander's lap where he sat on the floor massaging them. For some reason none of them could tear their eyes from the purple puppets' rendition of "near" and "far" played out on the television.

"This is a classic," Xander informed them, imitating their voices as his hands drifted "near" and "far" from Anya's-

"Xander!" Buffy scolded with a wide-eyed glare. "Impressionable children sitting not so 'far' from where I'm 'nearly' ready to smack you upside the head."

He held up his hands and in the Count's voice pronounced, "One, two, two hands keeping all to themselves over here."

She sighed and glanced over to Giles' still features. Sliding off the bed, she headed back downstairs. Enough sulking and feeling sorry for herself. Time to hit the books.

Buffy was just coming down the stairs when the front door opened. Dawn stepped through, Spike standing on the porch just behind her. The two sisters stopped mid-step, a stony silence descending between them.

Dawn turned to look at Spike, still waiting at the threshold for his invitation. "Spike-"

Buffy darted forward the remaining distance between them, covering her sister's mouth with her hand. "Don't you dare invite him in. Dawn, I can't believe with everything going on that you would sneak off to make time with _Spike_." She felt Dawn's tongue lick across her palm and snatched her hand back. "Eww! That's gross!"

Dawn crossed her arms and glared. "Will you listen to me for two seconds?"

"Fine."

"Don't mind me," Spike offered, leaning sideways against the invisible barrier barring his way into the Summers' home. "I'll just wait right here while you two birds have it out."

"Shut up, Spike," Buffy snapped.

"Don't tell my boyfriend to shut up."

"Excuse me?"

"I went to get Spike because I thought he could help Giles."

"Okay, I'll bite." Buffy looked pointedly at her watch. "What have you been doing the rest of the last three hours? Never mind. I don't think I want to know. Get up to your room."

"Supplies, you stupid git." Spike held up a small bag bearing the Magic Box logo.

Buffy gave the vampire a sideways glance. "You really came here to help?"

He sighed and rolled his eyes, still lounging against the invisible barrier. "I'll do what I can. Ain't promising it'll work, but I'll give it a try."

She focused on her sister again. "And this has absolutely nothing to do with trying to win us over to the idea of you and Spike as a couple?"

"If it helps Giles, does it matter?"

"It won't work. The winning us over part, I mean." Buffy shook her head, resigned. How could she refuse even the smallest chance of helping Giles? She groaned at the thought of having to accept Spike's help, but swallowed her pride and said the necessary words. "Fine. Spike, come in."

The barrier he was so patiently leaning against disappeared, and he landed on the floor in a heap.

Dawn reached down to help him up, but Buffy stepped between them. She pointed her finger in Spike's face. "No touching of my sister. No kissing of my sister. And no mooning over my sister."

"Mooning? Pfft! Please, Slayer. Tell me: am I allowed to be in the same room with your precious sister?"

"As a matter of fact, no." She snatched Dawn by the hand and escorted her up the stairs.

"Hey! This is so not fair!"

"Yeah? Well neither is my watcher in a coma."

"You're bloody welcome!" Spike's voice echoed behind her.

Buffy pushed Dawn into the master bedroom, informing Anya and Xander that they were relieved of duty and now Dawn would be watching the children.

Which left the rest of their group assembled around the dining room table staring at a large stack of books, all the books that Giles had been working on that Buffy could find. The same books that had gotten him into this mess, and hopefully the same books that would provide the way out of it.

"Who said he could join the party?" Xander complained when he caught sight of the vampire.

"If he can help, I'm going to let him."

"Fine, but if helping at any time leads to staking, I call first dibs."

At the end of two hours, the only progress they had made involved sorting the books into two piles, one of the piles noticeably larger than the other. Dawn had joined them as well, after the twins were both asleep, but was forced to sit on the opposite end of the table from Spike.

Xander sighed and propped his chin up with one hand. "Anyone ever notice just how many of these books are _not_ in English?"

Dawn picked up a book from the smaller stack and leafed through it briefly. "_Is_ this English? It looks like the stuff they made us read with Chaucer, and they had translations for that too. What does 'waymentynge' mean, anyway?"

"Lamentation, crying out in pain." Anya took in the incredulous looks of all around her. "Hello? Eleven hundred years old. I used to talk like that when I was human… The first time, I mean."

Dawn handed over the book. "This one's all yours."

Buffy picked up a book from the much larger stack and flipped it open. She couldn't even tell what language it was in. The writing looked like something off a hospital EKG. Her heart sank a little lower. "I guess all those times he was reading us stuff from his books, I figured he was, you know, _reading_ us stuff from his books."

"I had two years of Spanish, if it helps," Dawn offered.

"Here, Dawnie," Xander shuffled through the stack. "I think this one's Spanish."

Buffy picked up another volume and opened it. "Anyone read Martian?"

Spike leaned over her shoulder. "That's not Martian. It's Kynarr demon."

"You can read it?"

"Nah, just recognized a few words. 'Bout the only Kynarr I know is 'piss off' and 'kill that.'" He shrugged. "You don't exactly hire mercenaries to make small talk."

"Wow, Dawn, I think I finally get exactly what you see in him."

Dawn dumped her book back on top of the towering stack of unreadables, ignoring her sister's sarcasm for the moment. "Maybe I should have been more specific. Two years of _high school_ Spanish. I could maybe order dinner and get directions to the mall. They didn't exactly cover vocabulary words for blood sacrifice and demon summoning in class. But I recognized the word blood. Yay me!"

Buffy fell into her chair, near tears. "This is hopeless. I never thought I'd say this, but I'd give my right arm for the Council to come stick their noses where they don't belong."

"Travers still missing in action?" Xander asked.

"What did the Watcher's Council have against moving into the 21st century anyway? Would it hurt him to carry a beeper or a cell phone that he actually- God forbid!- _answers_?"

"Wesley?"

"Still being harassed by the LAPD over Faith. If he came, and she's still actually in Sunnydale and not halfway to Mexico, then he'd lead the cops right to her. As much as I really don't care if she goes back to prison for the rest of her life, I don't want her dead and calling my daughter for slayer duty. Wesley offered to research from there, but…" Buffy gestured towards the mountain of research covering the dining table. "But Giles already borrowed all the useful books when he was in LA the last time." She sighed and propped her chin up on her hand. "If Willow were here, she could maybe scan some stuff and email it to him. But if Willow were here, she could probably just fix Giles herself."

Xander clapped his hands together once as he thought of a plan. "Kinkos? Group outing? They have scanners there."

Buffy shrugged, without lifting her chin from its perch. With her free hand, she indicated the stack of books, Vanna White style. "What specifically are you going to scan? You gonna sit at Kinkos for the next three days scanning books?"

"Good point." Xander became as demoralized as her. He rested his chin on his palm in a matching pose.

"Besides, I kinda got the feeling from Wesley that their phones were tapped. He was trying to be all stealthy and use code words. And he kept calling me Brenda." Buffy sat up straight, laying her palms on the table, a rush of determination filling her. "Look, we'll just have to figure this out without Wesley… or Giles or Travers or anyone else who could actually be useful." Buffy groaned and flopped her head down on the table. Her fleeting sense of determination left her. This was hopeless.

"Look here, Slayer," Spike said as he tentatively laid his hand on her shoulder. "Watchers aren't the only ones who can translate musty old books."

She lifted her head slightly. "You saying you can figure any of that out?"

"No, but I got a few favors I could call in."

Spike's reassurance was less than reassuring.

"Hey!" Anya cried excitedly. She was laying out several volumes from the larger stack. "He put all these post-it notes by different passages. He must have his translations around here somewhere."

"His diary!" Buffy jumped out of her seat and dashed up the stairs, returning with the volumes he had tucked away in the nightstand. He kept two diaries: a personal one and a watcher one. She had them both, in case there was anything relevant in his personal entries, but it was only his watcher's diary that she handed over for the others to see.

Anya took the leather bound book and opened it, everyone else crowding around to look over her shoulder.

Xander squinted at the page and leaned closer. "My God, can the man write any smaller? No wonder he needs glasses."

Spike snorted his amusement. "Don't know why you're so surprised the watcher should write like a nancy boy. He does everything else like one."

Anya smiled as she paged through the diary, each page filled from top to bottom with tiny writing. "One time he wrote out a special order for a customer. She was quite irate when she received petrified hamsters instead of ground frogstone. He had to pull out a magnifying glass to prove he'd written it right, and I said if you need a magnifying-"

"Stop it!" Buffy shouted, silencing them all. "Can we not do this now? Can we not mock Giles right now?"

She met their started expressions for a moment before escaping into the kitchen. She leaned over the island counter, trying to control her tears, trying to still her thoughts. Giles would be fine, she kept telling herself. They would find the answer. They always did. Part of her knew she was only lying to herself, just as she had lied to Robin. She felt a hand touch her shoulder and turned to see Xander watching her compassionately.

"Buffy? Look we're sorry. You know we're all worried about Giles. Well, except for Spike maybe. And you know how I have a tendency to crack jokes under pressure. And Anya is still learning about tact. And… well, there really isn't an excuse for Spike."

"Oh, Xander," she breathed, wrapping her arms around his neck and weeping against his chest. He rubbed her back and kissed the top of her head, holding her tightly until she calmed. She pulled away after regaining control and hiked herself up to sit on the island counter. Wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand, she stared at a spot on the floor. Her voice came in a quiet whisper. It was as if she had opened a floodgate, and now all her pent up fears and doubts came spilling out, a torrent of words she couldn't hold back.

"Ever since the twins were born, I always imagined that he would be there for them long after I had… well, gone the way of all slayers. I sometimes hated him for it: that he would get to see all those things that I wouldn't. Little league and track meets, school plays and dances, first dates and high school graduation. Maybe watch them get married, or hold our grandchildren in his arms. Sometimes I hated him, but mostly it made it easier, knowing that they would all be okay, taken care of, that they would have him and he would have them. I could do what I had to do because I knew without a doubt that if something happened to me, that everyone I loved would be okay. In all that time, I just never imagined that Alex and Robin would lose him first."

Her voice wavered as she fought against the tears in the back of her throat. "What if he's like that forever, Xander? Just a vegetable lying in a bed? They won't have anyone after… and I don't know how to do this by myself. I just can't."

"Buffy, look at me." With a finger under her chin, he tilted her head up. He was leaning up against the counter between her knees and studying her very seriously. "You're not by yourself. We're all here, in any way you need us to be. And…" He broke their intense stare, dropping his gaze as he struggled uncomfortably with the next part. "I truly think Giles is going to be fine. We'll find whatever it is we have to find to fix him, and we'll fix him. But if we don't…" He looked up again and smiled softly at her. "Anya and I may be having our own baby right now, but… You know we both adore Alex, and Robin is just so cute. They're like a matched set. What I'm trying to say is that if anything ever happened to both of you, they would be taken care of. I promise."

Buffy leaned forward and kissed Xander on the cheek, moved beyond words. She felt like she could deal again, a great weight lifted from her shoulders. And then she had an image of Xander and Anya raising her children, and couldn't help but laugh. "Oh God, you're going to turn them both into Trekkies, aren't you?"

"No, of course not," he answered with an answering smile. "They'll have the full range of science fiction obsessions. There's Babylon 5 and Star Wars and when Alex is older, I'm sure he'll appreciate the beauty that is Lucy Lawless in a Xena costume."

She swatted him on the arm lightly, and he flinched back in mock pain. She jumped off the counter. "I think the two of us have shirked enough research. Back into the fray."

He shrugged. "Shirk a little longer, and they might have it all figured out for us."

"Tempting, but no. I want to be able to tell Giles that I figured out the research part without him."

"Then he'll only make you help with research more often."

"Hmmm… Good point. In that case, I'll just have to tell him that you came through with the books in my hour of need. Giles will be quite impressed with you."

"After that stirring and selfless speech I just gave you, this is the thanks I get?"

They rejoined the others, all deeply engrossed in their own books. Buffy noticed that they had torn the pages from Giles' diary, so they could each study the separate translations from the separate books. Oh, was he going to be pissed when he saw that. She and Xander were each handed pages, along with the original texts they matched up with.

Xander read aloud from his translation. "'_Take of mine blood and mine gifts. For you shall avenge me, and you shall have of the power of each that you slay in my name. Ten for each night of the moon shall you take. The last shall I strike down from the very heavens themselves. Thus in blood and fire shall this blade be blessed that whoever shall bear it will command the power of the slain._' Man, what's with all the flowery language? Can't they just say: 'Kill all these people and you can have their power?' Succinct. To the point."

"Ten for each night," Dawn mused. "That's 280?"

"281," Anya corrected. "You have to count the one struck down from the heavens."

"So Giles was pretty convinced this sword of Camela thing relates to whoever tried to kill Robin and Faith?" Xander flipped through the pages of the foreign text, stopping at each illustration. "So they were after lots of little slayer power?"

Buffy shook her head, mulling it over. "No. I don't think there's a lot of power in a potential slayer until they're actually the Slayer. And it's not really a family thing, so their parents wouldn't be that useful. I don't think whoever tried to kill Robin and Faith was doing it for a tally. I think they really wanted to permanently get rid of the Slayer."

"So this sword thing's probably a dead end?" Xander snapped his book closed.

Buffy gasped and sat up straighter. "The Watcher's Council." Everything was clicking into place. She glanced around at the faces surrounding her. "That's where they got their 280. They're going to take the power of the watchers."

Anya raised her hand, and everyone stared at her until she lowered it. "Watchers generally come from powerful families; that's how they get to be watchers. Most of them have a talent for magic, like Giles, but they also have a knack for finding potential slayers. It's kind of their first sacred duty."

Buffy made the next logical deduction. "They want their own slayers. With the power of all the watchers they killed, they'll be able to find them and train them themselves." She looked towards the staircase, where her daughter was sleeping upstairs. "They'll want to kill Faith and take Robin."

Xander leaned over and placed his hand on her arm. "But we're not going to let that happen."

She smiled weakly. "No, we're not. We're going to figure out whoever has this sword and stop them." She frowned. "After we figure out what spell is on Giles and break it."

She heard a small, childish squeal from the general direction of the staircase and the rapid patter of small feet dashing across the foyer. A tousled head of sandy hair ducked under the table, and Buffy could feel the child brush against her knees as he passed by. Alex reappeared at the other end of the table as he climbed up into Spike's lap.

"Uncie 'Pike!" he greeted the vampire happily.

Buffy rolled her eyes.

"Well, hello there, Half Bit. Miss me?" The boy nodded enthusiastically, and Spike threw his mother a satisfied smirk. "I might have stopped by now and then if your Mum and Dad didn't hate me so much."

Alex gave his mother a betrayed pout, to which she simply replied, "What are you doing out of bed?"

"Can't s'eep."

"Want Mommy to take you upstairs and read you a story?"

"Uh-uh. Sit wif Uncie 'Pike."

Spike adjusted the child in his lap. He looked down his nose at Buffy, as if daring her. "You heard the boy, Slayer. He wants to sit with his Uncle Spike."

Buffy sighed and flipped open a book, turning the pages more forcefully than necessary. "His Uncle Spike is _not_ his Uncle and is just begging for a good staking."

"Uh-uh!" Alex objected fiercely, standing up and placing his hand over Spike's heart, nuzzling his little head into the cold neck. "No stake!"

"You tell her, Alex," Dawn seconded.

Spike's satisfied smirk grew into smug smile. "That's right, Half Bit, you protect your Uncle Spike from that mean old slayer."

Buffy rolled her eyes again and backed up ten pages. She had been too distracted to pay attention to what she was looking at. "It's okay, Alex, I'm not going to stake him. Yet."

The boy settled down in the vampire's lap, watching the flurry of research going on around him. When he bored of that, he turned to wiggle his fingers beneath the buttons of Spike's shirt so he could feel the heart not beating. Spike jumped slightly at the touch on his skin, and the boy giggled as he turned his eyes up to him. "Grrr," he pleaded.

Spike sighed. "Grrr," he replied in kind, slipping into his vamp face.

The boy giggled again, his fingers reaching up to touch the bumpy forehead. "Grrr," he said a little louder, crinkling up his nose and forehead, his other hand moving to touch his own smooth face. The vampire growled back, and the two proceeded to have a small growling contest, which Buffy ended with a stern glare.

"Spike, if you keep that up, my son is going to think all vampires would make swell playmates. I'd rather he had at least a little fear for creatures which could potentially kill him."

Spike's features smoothed back into his human guise, and he looked suitably chastised. "Your mum's right about that," he told Alex seriously. "Most vampires are bad news. Spike's the only one you let near you, you hear me, kid?"

"Angel too!" Alex cried.

"Pftt! That wanker? What you want to hang around with him for?"

One of the illustrations caught Alex's attention, and he pointed to the book in front of Spike, the previous topic of conversation promptly forgotten. "Bad dog hurt watchers."

Five sets of eyes turned in his direction.

"He mentioned that dream before," Anya remembered. "Maybe he knows something."

Buffy lifted her son from Spike's lap. "Honey, can you tell me everything you remember from your dream?"

"Bad dog hurt watchers." His eyes filled with tears. "Me an' Robin run. Run, run, run. All cold, wet. Bad dream. No s'eep."

Buffy wrapped her arms around him and swayed gently with her son. "Do you have this dream a lot? Is that why you can't sleep sometimes and have to get in Mommy and Daddy's bed?" She felt him nod against her shoulder. She sat down and made him lift his head to look at her. "Alex, is there anything else you can tell me? Where were you and Robin running?"

"Cold. Wet."

"Wet. Was it raining?"

He shook his head, sniffling a little. "Sand."

"Sand? Were you on the beach? By the ocean?"

He nodded. "Mou'ain."

"On a beach by the mountains?"

"Uh-huh," he answered softly, nodding slightly as he laid his head back down on her shoulder.

"Kayer's Bluff?" Xander guessed. "It's the closest thing to beaches and mountains we got around here."

"It's worth a look," Buffy said.

"No!" Alex insisted, clutching her shirt tightly and managing to grab hold of her bra strap as he did. "No go!"

"Shhh, honey, you aren't going," she soothed. "Just Uncle Spike and I." She cringed as she heard herself call the vampire Uncle Spike.

"No go!" And then he started to cry.

Buffy stood and walked from one end of the dining room to the other, trying to calm her terrified child. The others watched her for a moment before turning back to their research. Spike was seriously considering the illustration that had drawn the boy's attention.

"Bad dog, huh?" He laid Giles' translation next to the book. Buffy stopped just behind Spike's shoulder so she could see the drawing too. It looked like a big bear, except its head looked like a mishmash of other things, maybe other demons, maybe other animals, but all in all: butt ugly.

"Mortog beast." Spike exchanged a glance with the Slayer. "Says it's the one this sword was made for. Ten bucks says it's the one you're after."

Buffy's face hardened. She thought of Robin and the fire, Giles' father and Travers' children and all the other watchers, her husband lying upstairs unconscious, and her son now crying in her arms, plagued by nightmares of this thing. "Figure out how I kill it."

* * *

Travers woke, first aware of the pounding in his head, followed by the realization that his movements were severely hindered by the ropes binding his wrists and ankles. He opened his eyes, flinching at the bright overhead lighting. When his eyes grew accustomed to the harsh fluorescents, he absorbed the details of the room around him: posters of young adolescent boys, a small side table with a lace skirt and covered with various bottles of cosmetics, clothes laid at the foot of the bed he rested on, boxes on the floor in various states of packing or unpacking. He wasn't sure which. On the ceiling directly above him, a poster of a kitten dangling from a rope advised him to "Hang in there."

He struggled to shift himself into a more upright position, attracting the attention of whoever was sitting behind him.

"Lookie, lookie what we caught spying on us."

He turned to meet the dark gaze of a young black woman.

"Don't bother trying to make noise," she told him. "It's a silence spell."

He tested the spell. Just as she promised, he could make no sound.

"Hey, Willow, want to go get Sabrina for me?"

Travers turned in time to see her walk out of the room. He was more than confused and wondered if the concussion might be muddling his thinking. Willow Rosenberg? The Slayer's friend?

With her departure, he realized he was alone with this young black girl. She looked like she might be a college student, and this room might be a dorm room. But when she leaned forward to invade his personal space, he saw something in her eyes that convinced him that her act was all a façade.

"You can let go of the idea that any of them will help you. As far as they're concerned, you're the bad guy. You and the Watcher's Council. Never mind that the Council is rubble. Shhh… that will be our little secret." She smiled and touched the side of his face in such a way that he shuddered. "You will be the last. You will light the sword."

* * *

Faith waited in the back alley, watching demons enter and exit, her slayer senses tingling through her whole body. She hadn't had a good slay in years, and she was aching for it. But that would give away the game.

In Sunnydale she could maybe go unnoticed. That was Buffy's town, and there it was Buffy who struck fear in evil hearts. But three hours of hitchhiking had brought Faith back to LA, and she had come to think of this as her town, even if she only saw it through a two-foot by two-foot barred window. And here in LA, Faith would be recognized, both by the police who were searching for her and the vampires who had tried to kill her.

It was a risk to come back here, but hey, if she couldn't stand a little risk, she was in the wrong profession.

It was worse to just sit around Buffy's house doing nothing. And if she had stayed, she might have been turned over to the cops as soon as the ambulance showed up. Better to fly solo, avoid the cops for as long as she could, or at least until she had put a stake through the heart of whoever was looking to activate the next slayer. To that end, she needed to do her own research: the kind that would actually produce results, the kind that required introducing her fist to someone's face.

By two thirty only the occasional demon happened through the alley. Faith figured the club was about to close. She waited a bit longer before entering, adjusting Buffy's clothes across her shoulders, shifting the pants on her hips. Better than prison gray, but not by much. She wanted something tighter, higher cut or lower cut or daring enough that people saw only her body but not her. She wanted to paint her face into a mask of vice and hide behind the familiar routine of proposition and taking and using and throwing away. She felt naked and vulnerable in Buffy's clothes, without even the smallest bit of lipstick to help her play her part.

She ran her hands through her jet-black hair, her natural color, but so dark that it seemed dyed, fake, which had always suited Faith just fine. "Screw this." She marched to the entrance and flung open the door with more force than necessary.

She surveyed the mostly empty bar, neon lights casting strange shadows across the inhuman patrons. The stage lights were dimmed, and no one was singing at the moment. The human looking bartender was washing glasses and stowing away the liquor bottles. It was probably past last call.

So this was Caritas.

Angel hadn't been pulling her leg when he told her about the karaoke bar for demons. Although she was reasonably sure that he had made up the part about putting Wesley in charge of Angel Investigations. Yeah, she could just imagine tall, dark, and brooding taking orders from Mr. Screams-like-a-woman.

She scanned the room for her target. Two o'clock. Just as Angel described him. Green, horned, with terrible taste in designer suits.

She strode across the room with grace and purpose. He didn't even see her coming before she had him pressed against his own bar, his arm twisted behind his back.

"Look, Mister, I haven't killed anything in a really long time, and I'm gettin' kinda itchy. Tell me what I want to know, and I'll slay something else instead."

"Hey, hey, hey, didn't you read the sign? No violence in Caritas. It's a sanctuary."

"Sorry, I was never one for rules." She wrenched his arm further up his back and saw the answering grimace flash across his face.

"Let me offer you a piece of advice, sister: I don't exactly hold my customers to the honor system. There's a spell on the whole bar. Try any real damage, and you'll be waking up back in prison."

She released him abruptly and took two steps back. "How did you-?"

"Know you were a psychotic escaped convict doing time for multiple homicide?" He turned around to face her, massaging his shoulder and sizing her up with one glance. "Faith, right? Angel warned me you might stop in. I'll have to thank him for putting my bar in your tour guide."

"Look, Green-skin, I just want-"

"Lorne. My name's Lorne. Green-skin's offensive to my people."

"Well damn, I usually try so hard to be pc. So how's this work? Do I hafta sing?"

"I don't know, sugar. Are you any good?"

She shrugged and crossed her arms. "I'm usually better at making other people sing."

"So I've heard." He tilted his head towards a nearby table and led them both to chairs. "Lucky for both of us, singing will not be required tonight. Although I have you pegged for an Alanis Morissette number, something that really screams 'men are evil.' Anyway, Angel left a message for you in case you dropped in and threatened to kill me. He'd deliver it himself, except for his ever present tails: LAPD and scourge-of-the-day-come-scourge-of-the-night."

"Huh?"

"Lawyers turned vampires. Apparently some up-and-coming lawyer at Wolfram and Hart grew himself a pair of fangs and recruited a full staff. Angel's pretty sure those are the ones you're looking for." He pulled a pen from the inside pocket of his purple suit coat and scratched something on a napkin. "This address is their headquarters."

"So if Angel knows where to find them, why hasn't he dusted them already?"

"Hasn't had a chance yet. The LAPD's keeping him hopping."

"They think he busted me out."

Lorne, the Host, shrugged. "They think he knows where you are. Which technically he did until you bailed out on his old flame."

"Hey! I didn't bail. I just didn't see the point in sticking around, you know? I needed to get in on the action and… Well B didn't seem to want me there. None of them did, really. I just made everyone nervous."

"Can you blame them? Hey, maybe you can drop in and say hi to Wesley on your way out of town."

She slammed her fist down over the napkin, making the table shake and Lorne jump as she took the address and slipped it into her pants pocket. She stood and leaned over him with one hand on the back of his chair. Her eyes bored into him as a wicked smile played across her lips. "I'd chill the attitude if I were you. This dive may be a sanctuary, but you have to show your face outside sometime. Buffy and Angel may embrace diversity, and I may be reformed, but I see a demon, I pretty much see a demon." She moved in closer, her voice pitched low and seductive and her breath hot against his ear. "And they don't send you back to jail for killing demons."

A voice from behind made her stand quickly. "You okay, boss?"

She spun to glare at the human bartender that stood there regarding her warily. Her gaze traveled between him and the Host. "Sure. We're five by five, aren't we, _sugar_?" She said the last word with venom.

Lorne cleared his throat nervously. "Whatever you say. It's okay, Bob, Faith was just leaving."

She gave the bartender a once over before departing and a saucy slap to his rear as she passed by. She sauntered out of Caritas, hearing the Host call after her, "Nice to make your acquaintance, Faith. Be sure to _not_ stop by when you're in LA again."

* * *

The twins slept, one on each side of him. Buffy rearranged Alex slightly so she could sit on the bed beside him too, leaning back against the headboard. Her fingers began methodically combing through her watcher's hair. She rested her head back against the wall, closing her eyes and speaking softly.

"I guess this is the cheesy coma scene. You know the one: where the wife sits at her husband's bedside and pours out her heart to him. And the audience gets all weepy. And right after she confesses her undying love, his hand twitches, and he opens his eyes, and it's happily ever after." Her hand paused, and she watched expectantly, before continuing her tender caresses through his hair, down each side of his face. "I don't know if you can hear me. I kinda feel like I'm talking to myself. It's weird. But John said he talks to April, and it helps, so what the heck.

"Remember when I was dead, and you came into my room to pray to me? I guess I'm in your shoes now. If you can hear me, if you're really listening, then you're probably waiting for the same sorta speech.

"Well, you're outta luck, Mister. I ain't gonna do it. You wanna hear an apology; you wanna know just what you mean to me? Then you're going to have to snap out of this, because I want to be looking into your eyes when I say it." The first few warm tears slipped down her cheeks. Her voice sounded much smaller to her own ears. "You have to snap out of this. I can't do this without you."

And then she slid down the bed, arranging herself against his side, mindful of the various tubes snaking in and out of his body and the sleeping child tucked up against him. Unbuttoning two of his middle shirt buttons, she slipped her hand beneath his shirt and pressed her palm against his bare chest. She counted out the beating of his heart. She watched the steady rise and fall of each breath. He was still alive. She had that much to be thankful for.

"Come back to me, Giles," she begged. And then she cried, silent tears that would not disturb their children.

He didn't come back to her that night. Or the next. More than a week passed, and nothing changed. They fell into a steady routine. Anya ran the store during the day, Buffy took personal leave from work and cared for the twins until Dawn came home from school each afternoon, and Spike had more or less moved in with them. In the evenings Xander brought take out for dinner and picked up Anya after work, and they would all bury themselves in research. Spike would disappear for hours after dark, returning with blood on his knuckles or torn clothes and on occasion a spell they could try or a lead on the Mortog beast. But nothing they tried would stir Giles from his slumber.

They found nothing at Kayer's Bluff except sand and stone. They found nothing of the Mortog beast except rumors and false sightings by drunken demons looking to be bribed. They accomplished nothing in more than a week except to lower their hopes and exhaust their limited resources.

Buffy visited John in the hospital sometimes after the children were in bed and before she went on patrol. She imagined that Giles would want her to. And there was some comfort to be found in her husband's friend, as he sat vigil beside his wife. She told him about Giles' condition, and he grieved with her. She listened to the daily updates on April's status, each an echo of her own: no change, hasn't regained consciousness, unresponsive to stimuli. They took turns crying on each other's shoulders, alternately upbeat about the other's chances and despairing of their own partner's hopes. John even left the hospital once to visit Buffy at her home. They stood together at Giles' bedside, and Buffy allowed herself to truly break down for the first time. She sobbed in John's arms until she had no breath, until her eyes were red and swollen, until her belly ached with her grief. Just when she thought she was finished, he offered her a handkerchief from his pocket, and in that little gesture, she was reminded of her watcher and started crying all over again.

The twins tested her patience. She didn't know how Giles did it. She hadn't taken care of both of them by herself since Robin came home. He had gotten their meals and bathed them and kept them out of trouble. The fault for that was not entirely on her shoulders. Robin had stubbornly refused anyone but him. Now she didn't have a choice, which only made Buffy's work that much harder. She thought if she put them both in the tub at the same time, that maybe Robin would tolerate a bath given by her mother rather than her father. But Robin screamed for Giles anyway, and splashed water angrily in Buffy's face, and flailed her slippery little arms every time Buffy tried to get a solid grip. And Alex took the opportunity to sneak out of the tub and run through the house naked. It was Spike who delivered the wayward child back to his bath. Buffy gave him a grateful smile. During the days, she and Spike were alone with the children, and she was surprised to find that she was actually thankful for his presence. Except for the occasional colorful word the boy picked up, Spike was good with Alex. Which freed Buffy to focus on Robin.

By the end of the week, the girl was warming up to her mother. She still remained at Giles' side whenever possible, but she didn't throw a fit over bath time or dressing anymore, and she ate what Buffy set in front of her without coaxing. Once she even colored a picture for her mother, and Buffy felt her heart melt when she saw that not only were Alex and Giles beside Robin in the picture, but she had included Buffy as well. The moment that truly gave Buffy hope that she might connect with her daughter, however, came just before bedtime one weekday night. The gang was struggling with the translations Giles hadn't gotten to yet, dictionaries opened between them, the occasional argument erupting over the meaning of a certain word. Spike had disappeared on one of his usual walkabouts. And Buffy was curled up on the sofa, reading a story to her son. She stumbled over the words when she caught sight of Robin in her peripheral vision. Buffy looked up, becoming very quiet and still. She felt like a hiker glimpsing a fawn in a clearing, trying very hard not to startle the creature and scare it off. It was the first time Robin had willingly left Giles' side, before or after his coma. She stood on the bottom step, her arms wrapped around the banister, her whole body tensed and on alert, as if she might bolt at any moment.

Buffy smiled and slowly extended her hand. "Would you like to listen to the story too?"

Robin hesitated, clearly torn between wanting to be upstairs with her father and wanting to be read to. She cautiously made her way towards the sofa, climbing up to sit beside Alex on Buffy's other knee.

Buffy blinked away tears, and smoothed back her daughter's hair. She beamed, her joy filling the emptiness the last weeks had left. It was such a little step, but in the end wasn't life all about little steps? She started again at the beginning of the book, thrilling to the feeling of holding both her children in her arms.

* * *

He drifted. Time had no measure. There was only darkness. He was aware of his body, lying there, beyond his control. Sometimes he heard their voices. Buffy, Xander, Anya, Alex, Dawn. He thought he imagined Robin's voice sometimes. She was always calling for him, and he couldn't reach her. Sometimes, though, they all sounded so far away, he could barely make out the words.

He was conscious, wherever he was, stuck between living and dying. He was aware of himself, his thoughts, his fears and frustrations. Not sleeping, not dreaming, his mind wandered through the darkness.

He tried to keep himself occupied, stave off the fear and despair, but soon Latin conjugations and store inventories could not hold back the darker thoughts his mind forced upon him. He had nothing to distract him: no book to open and lose himself in, no way to contact another person for simple conversation, nothing but his mind locked inside a stone body.

_Poor, poor watcher._

He sensed her magic, sharp and bitter. He felt them sometimes: the seven who had joined with Willow would come near him with their magic, like spiders inspecting the fly they had ensnared in their web.

He never sensed Willow. He hoped sometimes that he would, that she would realize what she had done, how she had been corrupted by these others. Other times he remembered the anger in her eyes, the hate in her voice, and he was very glad she stayed away.

In his darker moments, he fought against the spell that bound him. It only seemed to strengthen the magic surrounding him. Each time he gave up more quickly than the time before, sinking back into despair and bad memories and dark thoughts he had no power to banish.

_Poor, poor watcher. Such power buried deep inside you, but you were always afraid of it, weren't you?_

Of the seven who sometimes hovered near him, she was the only one who ever came close enough for him to hear.

Suddenly they were standing in a circle of stones, just the two of them. He did not know this place, but it was the illusion she always manufactured when she came to him as herself. Sometimes she came as his father, and then it was the bedroom he'd had as a child. Sometimes as Ethan, and then they were lounging in a dark pub. Once she had come as Jenny, curling up beside him in his flat, and once she had even dared to come as Buffy in the training room. But no matter the face she wore, he always knew it was she, so she didn't play those games anymore. Now it was always the two of them standing in the circle of stones.

"You don't seem happy to see me, Watcher."

"Should I be?"

"I would think you'd be happy to have some company." She stretched out atop one of the stones. "Would you rather be left alone? You don't seem to be enjoying the solitude either."

"What do you want, Sabrina?" he said through clenched teeth.

"I just find you fascinating. Is that so wrong? You have all this power at your command, but you choose not to use it. I'm just trying to understand. It's not just because of Randall, is it?"

"How did you…?" But he didn't finish his question. He already knew the answer. Sabrina was gifted. She could pull whatever information she wished from his mind. She had already taught him that lesson with the games she had played as his father… Ethan… Buffy… Jenny. Jenny had been the hardest. So much unsaid between them, so much of his grief buried beneath even his awareness, so much he had never even confessed to Buffy, all laid bare by Sabrina's merciless probing. Why should he be surprised that she saw Randall in his mind? She could see all his most painful memories. Why not Randall too?

"So you killed your friend. So what? We all make mistakes. We learn from them. Even I learn from mine. But you're wasting a beautiful gift. Come on, you remember the high of magic, of danger, of touching something dark and feeling the answering darkness inside yourself. Don't you miss it?"

"Is this what you did to Willow? How you brainwashed her?"

Sabrina smiled, seeming to enjoy his bitter rejoinders. "Nah, you and I are just conversing. I need nothing from you except to pass the time. If I wanted to, I could influence you. I'm pretty good at it. Although, shhh…" She placed her finger against her mouth and smiled wider. "Just between us, it's harder if the person knows you're trying to do it." She swung her legs back and forth like a child on a swing. "No, I just enjoy coming here and talking to you."

"Lucky me."

"It's like I can tell you anything. You're really easy to talk to, a good listener. That's a rare trait to find nowadays. Must be the Watcher in you, huh? I'm a good listener too. It's one of my gifts. But sometimes it's nice to have someone else listen for once." She grew serious for a moment, her brow creasing in serious thought. "You know why I like talking to you?"

"The phrase 'captive audience' springs to mind."

She chuckled and jumped off her stone perch, now strolling in casual circles around him. "That's a big part of it, I must admit. I can whisper in your ear and have it stay there. God knows you'll never speak to another living soul again. But it's more than that. Joseph doesn't appreciate the big picture, everything that I'm doing for him. He can't see past Wolfram and Hart and his own shortcomings reflected in his father's eyes. If he hadn't found the sword for me, I would just kill him and be done with it. He can't see how brilliant my full plan is. It will change the order of things for the next thousand years. I guess I need to share with someone who can admire my long term vision."

Giles crossed his arms, refusing to let her casual laps around him affect him, her movements like a shark testing its prey. "Isn't this always the downfall of the villain? When you talk too much, when you reveal your plans before you've finished them?"

She shrugged and stopped directly in front of him. "But it's also the pleasure. Where's the fun in destruction, in vengeance, if you can't enjoy the misery that comes after?"

"Vengeance?"

There was venom and hatred in her answer, the first time he had seen her show real emotion. With everything else, she was blasé, amused, entertained, but not invested. With her next words Giles, for once, caught a glimpse of _her_ inner demons. "For her. I gave my word. I would destroy them with their own power."

The words seemed familiar, but he didn't have time to think about them too deeply. She was still talking to him, making him jump as she touched him on the arm.

"But enough about me. I'm still trying to work out why you keep your magic all locked up. Not that it could save you now. The beauty of this spell is that the more you fight it from the inside, the tighter it will bind you."

"And if I don't fight it at all? Is my struggle feeding the spell its power? Will it simply dissipate without my force behind it?"

She considered his words for a moment. His imprisonment was a simple intellectual puzzle to her. He thought perhaps she might even answer his question truthfully. "Perhaps. You could try. But you will still end up trapped between. To escape, you must push through the spell, which you can't do without strengthening it. Catch 22, I suppose. Your only chance is for someone on the outside to free you. And Willow right now hates you for your betrayal of her, of us. She'd sooner kill you, I think, than set you free. No, your only chance was when she cast the spell. You could have fought her, matched her magic with your own, unlocked Ripper from his cage, and become what you fear most."

She gasped in understanding, and he dropped his gaze from hers, as if that could give him any protection from her mental invasions. "That's it, isn't it? Why you keep all that power buried inside you? You're afraid to touch it, to taste it, and lose control. You _do_ remember the thrill and the power, and you couldn't get enough of it then. You're afraid you won't be able to get enough of it now. Can't have just one drink?" She laughed lightly and wrapped her arms around his neck. He tried to push her away, but she held tightly to him. He closed his eyes in shame. "You're afraid of what you'll become. You know you walk the line already. You've taken human life: Longsworth, Sulla, and with your own hands: Randall, Ben. You remember what it felt like to strangle Ben, so much different than putting the sword through Randall, when all you could see was Eyghon. No, with Ben, you saw nothing of Glory, only the human man beneath you. Did you feel like a god, Rupert? Did you enjoy it?"

"No."

"No conviction behind that. Don't lie to me. I see through you. You _are_ afraid, Rupert, afraid of yourself. You're afraid that you'll become the thing that needs to be killed."

He opened his eyes, feeling naked before her. He shook his head. There was nothing he could say to her, no way to deny the truth she had pulled from his mind. "Please stop."

"Shhh... dearest." She laid her head against his chest. "No need to be afraid. You're locked away, safe as houses, and you'll never get the chance to become anything. A pity, really. I am truly curious whether you would have been a match for my Willow… you know, if you had allowed your power free reign. But you couldn't let it out, not even to save yourself. Are you that afraid of your own darkness? That it could so easily control you?"

He didn't answer, but she smiled anyway. She saw the answer in his heart and in the shame that blazed across his face. He begged her again, "Stop, Sabrina. Please. I'm tired of these games."

"Shall we play a different game then?"

The scene around him shifted. No longer outside in a woodland grove circled by stones, they were standing in the training room, and it was Buffy in his arms. Buffy's long golden hair instead of Sabrina's short brunette waves, Buffy's curves instead of Sabrina's girlish figure, and Buffy's loving blue eyes instead of that penetrating dark gaze. He tried to wrench himself from her grip, but she held tight, with Buffy's slayer strength that this illusion gave her. But it wasn't Buffy. It was still Sabrina.

"Come now, dearest." It was Buffy's voice, and he had to keep reminding himself that this wasn't real. "How many times did training lead to... more? Sometimes easier than at home, with a toddler constantly climbing into your bed and a teenager just down the hall. It's been a while. Things have been strained between the two of you. You've been fighting, and haven't quite managed to... make up." She trailed her fingers down the side of his face, and he flinched from her touch. "Would it be so hard to close your eyes and pretend I'm her? I look like her, sound like her, smell like her." She pressed her body close to his. "I _feel_ like her. You'll never get the chance to touch her again in the real world. Would it be such a betrayal to have one last moment with her in this one?"

He met her questioning gaze with a steady one of his own. "I think I'd rather you sent me back, where I was, alone."

He saw anger flash through her eyes. No longer a simple amusement, mere entertainment, he had touched something inside her. She shoved him backwards, pinning him against the wall, bruising him with Buffy's slayer strength. For the first time since Willow had bound him with her spell, he felt true primal fear. He struggled against her briefly, but it was Buffy's strength fueled by Sabrina's anger. She kissed him on his neck, hard, marking him, branding him with her lips and teeth.

She laughed. "You like it rough, Watcher? You like your Slayer's strength and passion and fire? Yes, you hunger for the fire, don't you? You like a dragon in your bed. What would you do with a beast like me? Would my fire destroy you or would it cleanse you of your doubts and fears? Would it strip away everything but the Ripper and free your magic from its chains?" She kissed him on the mouth, a forceful, claiming kiss, with none of Buffy's love or affection.

He focused on his breathing, his heart rate. He waited for the kiss to end, waited until she looked him in the eye. "You going to rape me? With my Slayer's own strength no less. Is that the new game?"

She pulled him back from the wall, only to slam him against it again. She released him and spun away from him. He had angered her, enough that her illusion of Buffy was slipping. It was Sabrina's dark brown eyes and not Buffy's blue that glared at him from across the training room. "I find you less entertaining and more irritating every second."

"I'd like to go back now."

"You think that's the worst I could do to you? Send you back to the darkness, trapped in a body beyond your control? You know I could send you somewhere far less pleasant. I could leave you in the mansion with Angelus. Or I could force you to relive Randall's death ad nauseum." The corners of her mouth twitched with repressed amusement. "Or hers."

The brick walls and weapons cabinet and punching bag and training mats around them wavered, coalescing into the construction site of Glory's tower. The sky darkened, and it was night. He could just make out Buffy's form at the edge of the platform. He wanted to turn away from the sight, but he was frozen. His heart stopped as he watched her plunge over the side. Even knowing that she would come back to him, the sight of her rapid descent tore his very heart from his chest. This was not just a memory; he was reliving it, with the feel of the night air across his skin and the ache of his wounded side and all the pain with which her death had overwhelmed him.

Sabrina's voice was soft beside his ear. "How many times can you watch her fall before it destroys the last shred of your sanity?"

He clenched his hands into fists and gritted his teeth to regain control of his emotions. "You're a prize sadist."

She laughed, her anger gone. He was once again nothing more than her plaything. "How else am I to entertain myself? I think I could drive you over the edge if I tried hard enough. But I've pushed enough for today, and it's time for me to go. Because I really don't want to destroy you. I want that to happen all on its own.

"You see, Morgaine and I actually have a little bet going: without all these mind games, without either one of us tormenting you, just all on your own, how long will it take for you to go insane? The isolation, the sensory deprivation, and that brilliant mind of yours. She doesn't think you'll last a month, but I have faith in you. You'll hold on to the hope that they'll find the key to your freedom. You'll hold on to the memory of your wife and your children. I think you might last a year."

The construction site around them faded out, growing dimmer, darker. He blinked rapidly to clear his vision, squinting to make out vague forms. He knew what was happening, but it was almost a habit to fight against it. It reminded him of another of Willow's spells from years ago, her my-will-be-done spell that had stolen his vision, had slowly turned the world dark until he was blind. He fought against the same panic that had threatened to overwhelm him then. He focused on slowing his breathing, even as he heard Sabrina's voice echoing in his ears, no longer beside him but coming from all around him.

"They say that even in the deepest madness, there are occasional moments of clarity, when you can see and understand what you have become, mere moments when you are sane and can feel the horror for all the time that you are not. Moments when you are sane enough to feel it slipping away again, but powerless to do anything about it."

He felt the weight of his body, his sensations deadened, just darkness and the prison of his useless body. He remembered Tara's insanity, what Glory had done to her, how the very thought had terrified him. _Don't... please don't with that treachery. I told the cats. And now I beg my mother, sitting all alone_. How she had looked at him and known even before he had. _You're a killer. It's all set down_… He remembered how she had described it afterwards. Sabrina was right. Tara had experienced moments of lucidity, breaks in the storm when she could see light. Light, but also the storm clouds that approached, beyond her control to stop them.

"I wonder which is worse: to lose your mind or to know that you have lost it?"

It was the last sound he heard. He was alone again in the darkness. He struggled desperately against the spell, fought longer than he had ever fought before, until he had exhausted himself and still made no progress. His body lay still and quiet. No matter how hard he concentrated, no matter what meditation techniques he used or what magic tricks he tried, he could not move even his littlest finger. He was paralyzed. Trapped. Nothing but his thoughts locked inside his skull, careening down paths Sabrina had kindly opened for him. Thoughts of Randall and Ben, thoughts of going insane, memories of the taste of dark magic and power he had tried to forget he owned. How many times do we stop our train of thought, distract ourselves from unpleasant musings, by physical movement? A shake of the head, a deep breath, a swallow, a clenching of fists, a change in position, or a furious polishing of glasses? Giles could do none of these things. The harder he tried not to think of them, the larger these thoughts and fears loomed in his mind. The idea that he was already losing control terrified him, filled him with a cold panic. He wished, not for the first time, that Willow had simply killed him.

_True!- nervous- very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why will you say that I am mad?_

He laughed to himself at his choice, but the words were vivid in his mind and so he continued. Ever practical, he began at the beginning. He would get through this. Whatever it took. He would trust Buffy and the others. They would find a way to free him, and he only needed to hold on until then. He would hold on. For Buffy. For Alex. For Dawn. For Robin.

The more cynical side of him pointed out that this was just how Sabrina had predicted he would hold on, how he would last a year. The thought of a year like this threatened to overwhelm him, and he tried to push that out of his mind. Today. He would just get through today, whatever it took. He dredged up the words, the memory of the pages, the scent of his father's library. To be lasting, memory must have a sensory component, a smell, a touch. He remembered the book, the words. He turned it into a game, a test of his memory. To see what snippets of what stories he could remember. The recitation would be a blessed escape, would mark time and keep him focused, keep him from drifting where he didn't wish to go.

_The disease had sharpened my senses- not destroyed- not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How, then am I mad? Hearken! And observe how healthily- how calmly I can tell you the whole story._

* * *

Buffy had pulled up a chair beside John. They both watched April in silence. The monitors around her beeped occasionally. She looked small beneath the array of bandages, tubes, and wires that cocooned her. Her injuries were healing; she was recovering from surgery; the doctors were optimistic. But she had yet to regain consciousness.

John and Buffy had already had their conversations, confessed their fears. Now when one or the other visited, it was usually spent in companionable silence. It was really all they could offer each other. Sometimes they would hold hands. Sometimes they would walk together through the hospital corridors or around her neighborhood. John had his family and she had hers, but there was something missing that they only found in each other. For his children, he felt the need to be strong. For Dawn and the twins, so did she. When they were with each other, they were allowed a safe space where they could be weak.

Buffy saw it first. She wondered if she might have imagined it, so she waited before saying anything to John. But then April's hand moved again, and she knew it was more than a trick of her tired eyes.

"John," she whispered.

He looked up just in time to see his wife's hand close into a loose fist and then open again. "April?"

Buffy hit the call button for the nurse as John leaned closer to April's bedside. Her eyes opened a crack, slightly glazed over and unfocused. He touched his fingers to her cheek, and she smiled softly in recognition.

Buffy's eyes filled with tears as she watched the happy reunion. A part of her burned with shame that she resented John even the smallest bit for getting his wife back while Giles was still lost to her, but mostly the tears she wept were joy for April's recovery.

The other police officer turned her head slowly to look at the figure behind John. "Buffy?"

Buffy smiled and moved closer, placing a hand on John's shoulder. "Hey, April. Have a nice nap?"

She chuckled silently and then looked back at her husband. "What happened?"

"You didn't answer your page. Something must have attacked you. You're in the hospital now. They did surgery, but you're going to be fine." He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. "You're going to be fine."

She closed her eyes in concentration, as if willing the memories to come back to her. Her voice was raspy from disuse, and she swallowed before attempting speech again. "I was checking out that new house on frat row. I think it's supposed to be a sorority. I didn't recognize the symbol over the mantle. I think… I think I walked in on a séance?"

John kissed her hand again. "Shhh… Don't think about that now."

But Buffy was thinking about the other woman's words. A symbol. A séance. Could she have walked in on some magic? Could that house be the one Buffy was searching for?

"Scott?" April asked. John didn't answer her immediately, and she made the obvious conclusion: her partner was dead. She started to cry softly, and he tried to soothe her.

The nurse entered at that moment and noticed that her patient was both awake and upset. "Only the husband can stay. April needs her rest, and the doctor will be down in a minute."

Buffy made to leave, but April stopped her with an urgent question: "Did anyone go back there? Did they find anything?"

"I think they sent Detective Cricks, but no luck. I'm not sure if they found anything else. I'm kinda on personal leave right now." She shrugged casually. "Tell you what: I'll go check it out myself right now."

April nodded, relaxing slightly, beginning to doze back off into a drugged exhaustion. "3231 frat row," she murmured. "Be careful. There was a bear, I think."

Buffy stopped in the doorway. "A bear?"

The nurse tried to shoo her out. "She needs her rest."

"I think a bear," April answered. "Claws. Got me 'cross the stomach. Had horns too, I think. Horns? No, that can't be right. It didn't look like a bear in the face… Don't know. It's all fuzzy."

The nurse tried to silence her. "Now, now that's enough, dear. Don't upset yourself more. You need to gather your strength."

"Wait, Buffy!" April tried to sit up, but was restrained by both John and the nurse. "I got off a shot, before… blacked out. I'm a good shot. Nailed it right in the chest. Nothing. Shoulda killed it."

"Don't worry, April. If I come across it, I'll kill it."

* * *

_Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, doubting dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before._

The darkness faded. Perhaps not faded. That was not the right word. It lightened. Faint at first, and then growing brighter. He shrank back from it, blinded by it, holding his hands in front of his eyes.

_But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, and the only word there spoken was the whispered word, 'Lenore!'_

He realized then that he was no longer locked away in the darkness, that he had been brought out into the light, that his hands were his to move, and that he could feel each breath through his chest, the trembling of his hands, and the grass beneath him. She had brought him here again, to her circle of stones, and he wasn't sure which was worse: the darkness or her.

He murmured the words under his breath as he curled into a ball, dropping his head down to his knees. "This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word 'Lenore!'"

Her breath was hot beside him. "Merely this and nothing more."

He flinched away from her and focused his mind on his recitation. Maybe he could shut her out; maybe if he filled his head with enough nothing, she would see nothing inside him.

_Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before._

"Ah, dear boy, I am much more than the wind. And I am after much more than simple entertainment this time."

He tried to ignore her, but she had him by the arm and was hauling him to his feet. "What do you want?" he ground out.

"Her."

* * *

"Whatcha doing?" Xander asked.

"Read to Daddy. Daddy fave'it."

While Xander doubted that "Yertle the Turtle" was Giles' favorite, he knew it was one of Alex's, and so sat beside him as he read. For a moment he thought the kid was actually reading, a feat that would have been unexpected and quite humbling for a guy who had barely squeaked through high school. Alex had the words mostly right and turned the pages at the appropriate times. But then Xander realized the kid wasn't even looking at the book and just had the words memorized. He wasn't sure which was more impressive.

The doorbell rang, and he heard Spike call out, "I got it." A pause. "You got to be kidding me!" The door slammed.

Xander hurried out of the bedroom, meeting Dawn in the hallway and urging her to stay back with the twins. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, Spike was leaning over the couch, peering out between the curtains.

"What's going on?"

"Vampires. A whole friggin' brigade of 'em."

"How bad can it be?" Xander leaned up against the couch beside Spike and peeked out the window too. "Oh, that bad." The house was surrounded.

Spike jumped off the couch and strode quickly to the front hall closet. He tried the door three times before he noticed the childproof lock. He sighed, undid it, and flung open the door. Crossbows, swords, stakes, crosses… He snatched his hand back before he could unintentionally burn it. A whole arsenal, and he handed out weapons to Xander and then Anya as she stepped up behind them.

"Hey, hey, what do you think you're doing?" Xander snapped as he snatched the crossbow from his wife.

She snatched it back. "Trying not to get killed."

He made another grab for it, but she held firm, and they started a tug of war over it. "You're way too pregnant to play Rambo."

"Oh! I'm too fat? Is that it?" She slapped his hand hard, but he didn't loose his grip. "I'm still a better shot than you."

Spike stepped between them and ended the discussion by taking the crossbow himself. "No one's playing Rambo. There's too many of them. We're going to wait them out 'til morning. They can't get in without an invitation, _remember_?" He handed the crossbow to Anya. "Let's see how many we can pick off in the meantime. And for God's sake, be careful 'round the windows."

* * *

"And to think, we were going to redo that spell, but now you've delivered her right to us."

He felt a cold shiver of fear shoot down his spine. "Who?"

"The last slayer."

Giles curled his hand into a fist and swung with every bit of anger he possessed. Sabrina laughed and ducked easily. She danced a few feet in front of him, jeering him on.

"Have you forgotten? I can anticipate your every move. Come on, then, let's give it a go. I have a few minutes to kill."

"You lay one hand on her-"

"And you'll what? Think very bad thoughts about me? Your body is lying in a bed, stuck full of tubes, where it will stay until it withers away and dies many, many years from now." She smiled as she saw the pain lance across his face, as she saw his crushing fear of the very future she described. "I don't think you'll be doing anything to me."

Giles backed down, knowing she was right, taking a seat on one of the stones in defeat. Knowing didn't make it any easier. "Please," he spoke softly, his head bowed. "I'm begging you. Leave her be."

"Don't be absurd. After all that work we did killing off the others? Only one escaped us. Ironic, isn't it, that she was _your_ daughter? I saw her in your mind." She squatted down in front of him. "You're the reason I found her."

He covered his face with his hands, rocking rhythmically as he tried to quiet his traitorous thoughts, tried to prevent himself from betraying anyone else he loved. _Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore_- He felt her fingers through his hair.

"If it helps, she won't be harmed. They want a slayer of their own. And I want…" She laughed, and the sound of her voice moved until she was behind him, her fingers tracing lazy patterns across his back. "Let me tell you a little secret, just between us. I have my two hundred and eighty, chosen carefully to be only the most powerful. Most of them watchers. Your daughter buys me the sword. And then one last watcher: that Travers fellow. He will be the one that lights my sword and gives me the power of all I have taken in her name. That would make you the last. I considered killing you as well, adding your power to the others, but this is much more… cruel, wouldn't you say? And I'm all about cruel."

He stood abruptly and walked several paces away from her. "You've had your gloat. Send me back and let me be."

"Tut-tut-tut," she clucked her tongue at him. "I told you I needed something from you."

He turned to look at her, trying to keep the litany going in his mind, trying to keep her out of his head. _Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted_-

"I need you to give me an invitation."

He blanked on the rest of the stanza. He shook his head, his eyes pleading with her. "She's just a little girl."

"I think it will be more fun if you're there when you do it."

Like a door slamming, like being sucked down a whirlpool, not in the least bit gradual like before, he was plunged back into darkness, shoved back into his lifeless body. He couldn't move, couldn't control any of the events happening around him. He was more aware this time. The voices surrounding him were clear. He could feel his children's trembling forms pressed against each side. Dawn kept reminding them to keep their heads down, pushing them down against his chest. Anya's voice was shouting from another room, and Xander answered her from somewhere off to the right. Spike's voice came from that general direction as well.

Giles felt his lips move, but he couldn't stop their movement any more than he could force his eyes open. He heard the sound come from his own throat and wished he could swallow it back.

"Come in."

His awareness receded. The sounds around him faded; the sensations of his body dimmed. He was slipping back into the darkness. The last sound he heard was the simultaneous scream of both son and daughter. After that, all was black and silent.

* * *

Anya shouted for more bolts.

"In a minute," Xander called back. "They're kind of shooting back at us over here." He hugged the wall tighter as another bolt came flying through the window and embedded itself in Buffy and Giles' dresser. "Hey! You guys are paying to have that fixed! Those drawers are dovetailed, Mister."

Spike rolled his eyes and jumped up to take another shot out the window before ducking back down. "Maybe if you stopped _missing_ them, you wouldn't keep them stocked up with ammo."

"You know, maybe a vampire shouldn't insult someone who's holding a crossbow."

"You know, maybe I'd be the teeniest bit worried if you could actually _hit_ something with it."

Xander heard Giles' voice, so faint he might have imagined it.

He heard Giles say, "Come in."

Spike threw a glance towards the bed too, and Xander knew he hadn't been the only one who heard it. He looked at Spike. Spike looked at him. They said it at the same time.

"Shit."

Next: Part 9: Waking the Dead


	9. Waking the Dead

ORIGINALLY POSTED: January 7, 2002  
TITLE: The Family Business  
AUTHOR: JK Philips  
RATING: PG-13 (swearing)  
SUMMARY: After the events of The Ticking Clock, Buffy and Giles are still looking for their  
daughter. Can they save her from a terrible fate?  
SPOILERS: Everything up to "The Gift"  
DISCLAIMER: I do not own these characters; they are the property of Joss Whedon,  
Mutant Enemy & Fox. I simply am doing this for fun, and non-profit use.  
SECOND DISCLAIMER: I have a laundry list of literature to site in this part.  
My footnotes will be found in the next part.

* * *

Part 9: Waking the Dead

Buffy picked her way through the sorority house. It appeared to have been hastily abandoned. Nothing of value had been taken: the electronics were still there, and the plush furniture and the baby grand. But all the personal items were gone, the rows of dorm-like bedrooms upstairs in disarray, emptied of clothing and pictures and jewelry. Whatever could fit in suitcases and assorted boxes was taken, everything else left where it lay. Some rooms had obviously packed more than they could carry, evidenced by the packed boxes stacked against walls and on beds.

Buffy stopped as she passed one room, drawn in by the brief glimpse of something familiar. It was hurriedly packed like all the others, but she recognized a few of the belongings left behind. The bedspread looked exactly like it could belong to… And the clothes strewn across it and the posters still hanging on the walls, they were all exactly like her friend's. It couldn't be. But it was. Buffy bent to pick up a small snapshot, forgotten on the floor. Her own face laughing back at her, framed by Xander and Willow, all of them looking so young, so different. It was from their first year of high school together, she thought, back when Xander had a crush on her, back when Willow was pining away after her best friend, barely able to string together two words in front of the opposite sex, and back when Buffy herself had thought playing star-crossed lovers with a 240-year old vampire was the height of excitement.

This was Willow's room, or it had been until recently. Whatever was going on, whatever these people were up to, Willow had some part in it. And she had discarded her old friends just like the photograph in Buffy's hands.

Buffy had thought that in losing her watcher and husband she had hit rock bottom. But here was a lower place. Her best friend had switched teams, and not in the straight then gay kind of way. Buffy was fairly certain these people had something to do with Robin and the other potential slayers and probably the watchers as well. But even if they didn't, they definitely had something to do with April lying in a hospital bed the last two weeks.

How would she stop her best friend? Did she have it in her to square off against Willow? Was it too late to offer her friend a helping hand out of the darkness? She thought of Faith, how they had tried to help her and lost her, thought about that fated battle before graduation day, how she had slid Faith's stolen knife in her gut- _slid in like she was butter_- and almost lost herself. _What are you going to do, B? Kill me- you become me. You're not ready for that_. What would she become if she were forced to hurt Willow? Would she be worse than Faith? Would it be better to simply walk away, let Willow do whatever she wanted, rather than take a human life, a life she loved? Should she just write Willow off as Giles had written off Ethan?

She stared at the high school snapshot, longing for simpler days, when things had been more black and white: kill a demon, save the day. Was the price for saving the day now too great? Not even to save the world could Buffy sacrifice her sister. What would it take before she would be willing to sacrifice Willow?

* * *

They were strolling hand in hand through the streets of Prague. Dru had always liked Prague. Since Angelus and Darla had gone their separate ways, it was just the two of them, and he brought her here often, although they were never good at laying low. Consequently, they were never able to stay in Prague long. They never stayed anywhere long.

They stopped in front of a dressmaker's shop. Dru pointed excitedly at the dress the mannequin wore.

"Oh, Spike, isn't it lovely?"

He eyed it skeptically. "We killed a shopkeeper not two blocks back for the dress you've got on. Don't tell me you're tired of it already."

She pouted at him. "Yes, but this one smells of her, and she tore the lace trying to run away." She lifted the beaded hem of the overskirt so he could see more clearly the tear across the elaborate underskirt. "Naughty girl. Wouldn't even mend it for me."

"She was dead, Dru. You killed her."

"Oh, right." She eyed the dress in the window longingly. "Such a lovely color, like dead roses, all faded and dried on their stems. I want it, Spike."

He sighed as he studied her in profile. In many ways she was like a child, able to find joy in such simple things. "Then you shall have it, my love." He stepped over to the front door, and stooping over for a rock, busted out the side window. She applauded for him giddily as he reached through to unlock the door, stepping aside for her to enter first.

The shop was dim, lit only by the light that filtered in from the street. He nosed around until he'd found the shopkeeper's store of matches and lit the oil lamp beside the register. Dru had already peeled the dress off the mannequin and was holding it against herself as she twirled in front of the full-length mirror.

"Dru, darling, you don't have a reflection," Spike reminded her very patiently.

"If I close my eyes, I can see it," she murmured approvingly. "It's perfect, my William. I'm going to go put it on." She stopped mid-twirl, her eyes focused on a spot just behind him. "Well, well, maybe she can mend my dress for me."

He turned to see what had caught her attention. A young woman in her nightclothes stood just behind the register, holding aloft a candle in its holder. They had apparently wakened the shopkeeper who lived above the store. With any luck, there were more upstairs.

Spike smiled appreciatively. "Well, aren't you a bit fresher than the last? What do they call you, little girl?"

"Tara."

He stopped in his advance, overcome with a strange sense of déjà vu and the feeling that things had just been set on their side. Dru slipped in behind him, sliding her hand into his. She leaned forward to whisper in his ear, "Do you want to, or shall I?"

He remembered this. He remembered what happened next. He and Dru would drain the young woman together, unable to decide which should have her. They would go upstairs, and the little girl would invite them in, because Dru had a dolly for her. And they would play with the young toddler while the father begged for her life. They would kill them both and sneak out before the morning light could reveal what they had done. And Dru would wear her new dress through the streets of Prague the next night, window-shopping for a bit of jewelry to go with it.

He remembered all of this, even though it hadn't happened yet. He wondered if Drusilla's visions were beginning to rub off on him as well. But just as he remembered everything that would happen next, he also knew without a shadow of a doubt that the woman's name hadn't been Tara. Not the first time. Her hair had been longer, darker, and pulled up in rag curlers. This woman was fairer, her thick blonde hair worn straight to her shoulders. And she was familiar.

Dru tried to walk around him, impatient for the kill. He restrained her, his eyes never leaving the woman before him, and her eyes fixed on him as well. He knew what to ask, without knowing why he knew or why he cared about her answer. It was all very surreal, like a dream. "You have something to show me?"

She nodded and started up the steps directly behind her. He followed, Drusilla on his heels. She was forced back at the stairwell by an invisible barrier. Spike turned to see her standing there, pounding against the air, unable to follow him. He wondered how he had passed through without an invitation.

"You've already been invited here," the young woman informed him, as if she could read his mind. She waited at the landing for him, holding the candle to light his path.

Spike continued up the narrow stairwell, which turned once, then twice before ending on the second floor. But it wasn't the shopkeepers' apartment he ended at. It was someone else's house, someone else familiar, whose name stayed just out of reach. Modern conveniences in the bathroom, the tellie blaring from the end bedroom. All things that shouldn't be here in this time.

He laughed at himself, at his own stupidity. "I'm dreaming."

The woman smiled. "Something like that." She stretched her hand towards the ceiling and a small ladder stairway unfolded itself to the ground, leading up to a dark attic. She offered him the candle. "It was my mother's book. I never showed it to anyone, not even to _her_. I think it will help."

He took the candle from her hands, feeling the warmth of the flame and the wax as it dripped down to the taper. He watched Tara for a moment, feeling like he was standing astride two worlds. "It's really you, isn't it? And it was Dru before, in the other dream?"

Tara shrugged bashfully and ducked her head. "It's easier for the dead to visit the dead." She raised her eyes again, her expression serious and urgent as she reminded him again: "My mother's book."

"Yeah, yeah, I'll find the thing. And it bloody well better be useful, if you're going to go disturbing a perfectly good dream to bother me about it."

Tara smiled, the shy, timid smile Spike remembered of her. She wrapped her fingers around the hand holding the candle, her grip on his wrist strong. "Tell her I'm happy. I miss her, but I'm happy. And I want her to be happy too."

"Sure, whatever." He rolled his eyes. "Anything else? Should I take notes? Bleedin' messenger service for the afterlife. Is that what I am now?"

Tara's smile widened. "Goodbye, Spike. And take good care of Dawnie. She's loved you for a long time. You know, you may not have a soul, but you have a heart, a good heart."

"A dead heart," he scoffed.

She shook her head emphatically. "A heart that loves is never dead."

"Yeah, yeah, put it on a greeting card and sell it. We finished, ducks?"

She blew out the candle, and that was her answer.

He was plunged into darkness. He heard voices a great distance away and felt a slap across his cheek, then another. He opened his eyes and caught the hand before it struck again. Anya was kneeling beside him.

"Finally! You were a lot more difficult to wake up than Xander. You sleep like the dead, which makes sense, I suppose, since you are."

Spike bolted to his feet. "Dawn!"

Xander stopped him before he'd taken more than two steps. "She's fine. She's downstairs trying to get a hold of Buffy at the hospital. We're all fine, except I think I got a concussion and the twins are gone."

Spike puzzled through Xander's assessment. He thought for sure he was dust when the attacking vampires got the better of them. Vastly outnumbered and outmaneuvered, they hadn't lasted more than ten minutes against the invaders. "Why aren't we dead?"

"I heard them talking to each other after you both were knocked out. They were under strict orders from somebody not to kill Giles," Anya answered. "I guess they didn't know which one of us was Giles, so they didn't kill any of us. And they didn't knock Dawn or me out, which wasn't a bad thing either. But they took the children. We couldn't stop them. I think they were surprised to see two. I think they were only sent after one of them, probably Robin."

Spike nodded. "Any idea where they've gone?"

"No," She answered despondently. "We need some of those homing things like they have in the movies, and then we could follow the twins like little blinking dots on a computer screen."

"Okay, Q," Xander replied sarcastically, "any ideas for the real world?"

"A locator spell?"

Xander rested his hand against her round stomach. "Except..."

"Yes, except..." They both looked towards Spike. "Could you do it?"

He shrugged. "Could try." He tilted his head back towards where Giles was still resting on the bed. "Watcher would be better at it, if we could break that damn spell." His thoughts continued on even as Anya and Xander talked in the background, thoughts of his dream with Dru and then Tara.

"What's up with the invitation giving?" Xander asked. "He wakes up just long enough to invite in a bunch of vampires?"

"No, it was whoever cast the spell on him," Anya explained. "They made him give the invitation. They probably hired the vampires to steal the children, too."

Xander's eyes lit up with an idea. "Hold on. I think my fuzzy, concussed head just had an idea. We find the twins, and we find whoever put the spell on Giles, right? Then we'll make _them_ break it."

"Good plan. Now how do we find the twins, sweetie?"

His face fell. "Oh, yeah. We were just trying to figure that out. I think it involved breaking the spell on Giles so he could do a locator spell." He groaned and held his hands to his head. "We're just going in circles here, and it's making me dizzy."

Anya smiled, and patted him on the arm soothingly. "Maybe Buffy will have an idea."

Xander frowned. "I'm not so sure. I think she might have a total shutdown. She's spent the last week thinking that Giles might never wake up. When she finds out vampires abducted both their children, she might go a little catatonic. Remember when Glory nabbed Dawn?"

"Oh, yeah, and then Willow did that spell to bring her out." A long silence followed her statement. "Right. Another spell none of us can do. We need to put an ad in the paper or something for another witch, because we really seem to be coming up short right now."

Spike had finally sorted out his dream. Tara had led him to the second floor of _this_ house, _Buffy's_ house, and they'd been standing not even ten feet away in the hallway. "What'd they do with Tara's stuff after she died?"

The young couple stared at him, baffled for a moment. Xander had a cutting comment on the tip of his tongue. "Why? You looking to fence it to buy beer?"

"Just answer the bleedin' question."

Anya reached out her fingers to probe him along the back of his head, and he flinched away. "Can vampires get concussions too?" she asked. "Because your question in no way fits into the conversation we were having."

Spike glared and gritted his teeth. "What did they do with the witch's sodding stuff?"

Xander studied him for a moment, and then reluctantly answered his question. "Willow didn't want to keep any of it. She said she couldn't look at it. She wanted to get rid of it, but Giles thought she would regret that later. He and Buffy boxed everything up and stuck it in the attic, in case she decided she wanted some of it later."

"The attic?" Spike strolled out into the hallway and looked up at the outline of the doorway in the ceiling, just like he had seen in his dream. He laughed. They'd been searching all week, and now all he'd have to do is pull down the stairs, climb up into some dank attic, and sift through the witch's stuff 'til he found her mother's book. Why couldn't Tara have dropped in on one of his dreams days ago? It's not like he hadn't dreamed before today.

Dawn came up the stairs then, smiling when she saw Spike. He cupped her chin in his hand and pulled her into a crushing hug. Whatever Xander and Anya wanted to think be damned. There had been a moment where he thought her lost, thought he had failed to protect her. When the vampires rushed them in numbers too great to hold back, he had experienced a moment of despair and failure every bit as great as that moment at the top of Glory's tower when he had failed to stop Doc, when he could only look at her helplessly before being thrown from its height.

"I thought I'd lost you," he murmured into her hair.

"Me? Nah." She gave him a brave smile. "Slayer's kid sister, remember? I have years of experience getting into trouble and walking away. Buffy's the one who died twice. Worry about her."

He chuckled softly and touched her cheek with his hand.

Xander interrupted their tender moment. "While a lovefest between Dawn and Spike is... well... _gross_." He shrugged sheepishly. "Sorry, Dawn, but it is. Anyway, we really should figure out a workable plan before Buffy gets home."

Dawn faced them, still leaning against Spike. "She left the hospital a while ago. She should be home..." The front door banged open. "...right about now."

"Guys?" Buffy called as she jogged up the stairs. "Oh, good, you're all here. I'm afraid I have some really bad news."

The foursome exchanged meaningful glances before looking anywhere but at Buffy. Spike spoke. "Sure, Slayer, you first."

* * *

He heard the girl's wailing before his minions had even reached his office. But when the band of vampires entered his presence, they carried not one child, but two between them.

"What is this?" he demanded, glaring back and forth between one very hysterical little girl and one very sullen little boy.

"There were two kids, boss, and we didn't know which to take, so we took them both."

"You idiots!" He backhanded the vampire closest him and then advanced on the next, who held the boy up as if to use him as a shield. Joseph didn't strike again, but his eyes focused on each subordinate with contempt. "Slayers are always girls. Always! What am I going to do with a little boy? There isn't even enough blood in him for a decent snack." His hand thrust out to grasp the boy's face in his hand, feeling the child's heart rate quicken beneath his fingers as he forced the small head to the side. But the boy's green eyes didn't even waver as Joseph slipped into his demon visage.

"Aren't you afraid of me, little boy? Aren't I the kind of monster that gives you nightmares?"

"Leave him be, Joseph." Sabrina pushed him back and motioned for the boy to be set down. She knelt on the ground in front of him. "Sometimes you vampires are so dimwitted, I'm surprised the sun ever shines for you." She smiled coyly. "Oh yeah, it doesn't." She grasped the child by his shoulders and pulled him closer to her, sizing him up thoughtfully. "Anyone can see that the boy's worth ten of her. He has his father's power."

Joseph scoffed. "And the girl has her mother's power. Her mother, the _Slayer_."

Sabrina shot him a look over her shoulder. "Fine, then. She's yours. Make her into whatever kind of slayer you like. Our business here is done. Give me the sword. And I want the boy, too. A little bonus for making me wait."

He nodded to two lackeys at the door, and they left to fetch the witch's payment.

Joseph sized up his little slayer, cowering in the arms of one of his less threatening minions. The man used to work in the mailroom of Wolfram and Hart. And here his slayer was, trembling in fear of this gawkish, beanpole, nothing vamp.

"She's rather timid for a slayer. Are you sure she's the right one, Sabrina?"

"Yes." A weary sigh. "She's a child, Joseph, and you are a monster, what would you expect her to do? Pull out a mini stake and attack your kneecaps? Fear is your ally, in this case. Fear is how you will control her and make her yours. You would have more to worry about if she showed no fear." Sabrina turned back to the boy in front of her, reaching out her finger to bop him on the nose as she smiled. He met her stare levelly. "Yes, if she showed no fear for you, you would have no choice but to put her down."

She leaned down closer and whispered, "What is your name, little man?"

The child's chin jutted out stubbornly as he crossed his arms.

"That's alright. I'm sure your father will tell me."

His eyes grew wider at that statement, and Joseph wondered how she knew the child's father.

The lackeys returned then with their cargo, and Sabrina seemed to forget about the boy as she rushed to claim her sword. Joseph had never seen a child more eager for Christmas than she was for that damn blade.

She tested the weight of it in her hands, gave it a few swings to hear it slice through the air. She beamed at him. "Thank you. I had almost given up hope, but you came through for me."

He shrugged, playing modest. "You just have to know where to look, who to bribe, who to kill. Networking."

She bowed slightly, graciously. "All the same, I salute your resourcefulness. And I hope you found it to be a fair trade. But I believe our business is concluded." She slipped the sword back into its ornate sheath, strapped it across her back and moved to take the boy.

Joseph stopped her. "Am I not invited to your big hurrah?"

"Really, you don't want to go. Lots of chanting, blood sacrifice, that sort of thing. Quite dull. It's liable to take all night. Stay home. Enjoy your little slayer. I'll give you a call sometime. Maybe do dinner?"

She scooped the boy up into her arms. He didn't resist, but neither did he wrap his arms around her.

"Wait," Joseph insisted, restraining her by the arm. "I thought we were partners."

"Partners?"

"You know, you're taking the power of all the watchers...? I have the last slayer...? Ring any bells? You were going to find the potentials as they came. Our own Council. It was _your_ idea."

She laughed. "You're a man of resources; you find the next generation of slayers. I got rid of this one; I got the Council out of the way. What you do with it from this point on is your own affair."

His grip on her arm tightened. "_You_ got rid of the Council? And the slayers? By yourself? If I recall, it was a team effort."

She sighed in exasperation. "Fine. I showed you where the slayers were, and your minions killed them. I destroyed the Council headquarters, and you took care of the branch offices and finished off the stragglers. The point is: I did my part. You're set up nicely to play watcher if you like. Or not. I don't really care either way. I'm done."

He shoved her back roughly. "If I could find the potentials on my own, I wouldn't have hired you to do the fucking spell."

"Language, Joseph." She adjusted the boy's weight on her hip. "If you don't think you can handle it, then just kill her, kill Faith, and be done with it. But if you're ready to stand on your own two feet, then stop whining to me about what you can and can't do and figure a way. You're out of your father's shadow now; you're out from under Wolfram and Hart's wing; it's time to walk in the sun for once." She paused before adding, "Metaphorically, of course."

Joseph studied the little girl, sobbing brokenly at the feet of the mailroom clerk. His slayer now. Maybe Sabrina was right. Maybe he didn't need her. He had orchestrated a worldwide massacre of all potentials in a single night. Sabrina had only told him where to strike. He could do this. And if he missed a slayer here or there over the years, well there would be no watchers to find them either.

He focused again on the witch, who was waiting patiently for his leave to go. "So you are sure there are no more watchers left?"

"None that should cause you any concern." He gave her a skeptical look, and she elaborated. "Only two. One will be dead tomorrow. The other will simply wish he were."

He nodded. "Fine. Go. Good luck tomorrow. Tomorrow night is the crescent moon, isn't it?"

"Yes. You cut it close delivering the sword. Then again, I would have had another chance next month, so no harm, no foul."

"Your coven is staying at the shelter now?" He spread his hands wide in surrender when she hesitated. "I just want to know where I could send flowers."

Sabrina laughed heartily. "Yes, at the shelter. The sorority was compromised." She shook her head in disbelief. "I thought fruit baskets were the traditional thank you from lawyer to client."

He shrugged. "I suppose I am no longer the traditional lawyer. That is something I will need to remember in the future. Thank you, Sabrina, for everything."

She acknowledged his gratitude with a tilt of her head and swept out of his office with the sword and the boy.

Joseph dismissed his minions and shut the door behind them. Alone in his office with his slayer, he paced around her like a tiger. "So, little slayer, they tell me your name is Robin." She didn't uncurl or raise her head, so he sat on the floor just in front of her and waited patiently for several minutes. Tired of waiting, he gripped her chin roughly and forced her head up. "I asked you a question. You _will_ learn to mind me or you will suffer for your disobedience. Whatever life you had before is gone. I am all you have now. I can make you very happy, or I can hurt you terribly." He tucked a few stray locks of golden curls behind one ear. "Now, your name is Robin, right?"

She nodded meekly.

He smiled. "That's better. My name is Joseph. Do you want something to eat? Some toys perhaps?"

* * *

Faith paced and stretched, returning periodically for a look over the edge of the roof and down on the alleyway below. She was about to crawl out of her skin. After more than a week of tailing vampires and watching them from the shadows, she was craving the hunting like nothing she had experienced before. Worse even than those two months a couple of years ago when she had begged them to lock her in solitary before she lost control and killed someone or... Well, there'd been those other urges too.

She wanted to just bust in there, guns blazing, and dust as many as she could before they took her down. And they would take her down. There were just too many of them. This lawyer vamp had a full staff, just like that demon at Caritas had warned her. Bodyguards and errand boys and limo drivers and a frickin' mail clerk sorting mail in a side office. She needed to dust the leader first, the lawyer vamp, and then some of the others would bail out, even up the odds a little. She was pretty sure she had it figured out who he was and where his office was. Getting to him was another matter entirely. Faith had learned a little caution while in jail, and so she wouldn't just bust in there, guns blazing. She would wait for the right moment. In the meantime, all this waiting was making her crazy.

She stole another look over the edge at the alleyway. The woman who had entered earlier was leaving now, except with a sword strapped to her back and a kid in her arms.

"What's a vampire doing with a kid?"

The kid looked suspiciously like Buffy's kid. Faith decided to come back for the lawyer later. She would follow the woman first.

* * *

Buffy went through phases. First she had been a flurry of activity: let's go, let's find them, let's bring them home. She tried to track the vampires, but they'd been gone too long. She beat up Willy the Snitch. She paged through all the books they'd already paged through. Second had come the despair. She'd fallen, sobbing, to her knees, her grief a keening wail that tore at everyone around her. Dawn had started crying too, embracing her sister, the two of them clinging to each other on the floor. Now she had burned herself out and moved on to an empty, sullen stage. She sat on the couch, staring at nothing. Dawn sat beside her. Xander and Anya helped Spike sort through the boxes from the attic, unsure what they were looking for, but knowing it was at least something to keep them busy.

They nodded off one by one through the night. The nurse came promptly at eight in the morning to take care of Giles. Neither Buffy nor Dawn had the stomach to eat breakfast. Anya complained that her back ached from sleeping on the couch, and Xander shushed her quietly even as he sat beside her to give her a back rub. Spike threw a box against the wall, frustrated with constantly pulling out clothes and trinkets and love letters and, all in all, _junk_. He tramped off upstairs for another box.

The phone startled them all when it cut through the miserable silence. Xander was the only one who moved to answer it, and when he tried to hand it over to Buffy, it took him three tries before he had her attention.

"Buffy, it's for you. It's Faith."

Buffy stared at the cordless blankly.

"Faith. She wants to talk to you." Xander waved the phone back and forth.

She blinked and finally moved to take it. "Hello," she said softly.

"Hey, B, missing a kid?"

Buffy sat up straighter, her attention caught. "What do you know?"

"I know where Alex is. Come to LA. Meet me at five o'clock by the Redondo Beach Pier." The rest of the conversation was abruptly cut short. "Shit. Gotta go."

Click. That was it. No time to ask questions, no chance to ask about Robin. Just a time and a place for a rendezvous. Buffy wasn't even sure if she would be walking into a trap, if Faith had sold her out yet again.

She jumped up off the couch, issuing orders as she crossed to the hall closet. "Spike, Xander, you're with me. Anya, Dawn, stay here with Giles. I'll take my cell; call if anything changes, if Faith has any more messages. She knows where Alex is, so we're meeting her in LA." She stuffed her pockets with a few stakes, grabbed a couple crossbows and a couple crosses for good measure.

"Hold up," Spike told her. He had a hand-sewn patchwork quilt in his hands and was slowly unfolding it. Wrapped at the center of the bundle was a worn, leather bound volume of considerable bulk. "Jackpot."

"What's that?" Anya asked.

"The ticket to waking up Watcher-boy, I'll wager." He smiled at his success.

"How do you know? We have a whole stack of books over there, and none of them were very helpful. How can you be sure this one is any different?"

"I just know, okay?" he snapped. "I knew it was up in the attic, didn't I? Give me a little credit here."

"Fine." Buffy's stern tone prevented any further argument between Anya and Spike. "You stay here and try to wake up Giles. Meet us in LA as soon as you can."

"Hey!" Spike protested. "Just 'cause I found the damn book doesn't mean I can do anything with it."

"Well, you have a better shot than anyone else here. I'm counting on you, Spike. We need Giles. Anya can help you figure it out and get supplies."

"No, I can't. I'm coming with you."

Xander balked. "I don't think so."

Anya crossed her arms. "Well, _I_ think so."

"Buffy, tell her." He glanced back and forth between his friend and his wife. "Tell her she can't come."

The Slayer hedged. "Anya, I really don't think..."

"No, you don't think," Anya retorted. "Who's going to drive the car while you two are off doing whatever you're doing, which is probably going to involve getting screwed over by Faith? Parking in LA is hell. You need someone to drive the getaway car. And I can answer the phone, take messages for you while Faith is selling you out. And then I can call for backup after you both walk blindly into Faith's trap and get yourselves almost killed."

Buffy frowned. "I'm getting a feeling that you think Faith is going to stab us in the back."

"Yes, she is," Anya stated without hesitation. "Possibly literally. Possibly metaphorically. But one way or the other, there will be back-stabbing." She sighed. "Look, I don't want to get hurt. I don't want the baby to get hurt. I'll stay out of harm's way, I promise. I'm a good shot with a crossbow at a distance if I have to, and I'll stay in the car, so there's always the possibility of speeding away. But you need me to drive your getaway car. I think it will improve your chances of actually getting away."

"No, absolutely not," Xander insisted. "This is me putting my foot down. Hear the satisfying thud?"

Buffy bit her lip and screwed up her face in apprehension. "Umm... Xander? She kinda has a point. I think she should come."

Anya grinned triumphantly. "See? This is me going. Hear the door opening?" She grabbed the car keys and made a dash for the car.

Xander glared at the Slayer darkly. His tone was very serious. "If anything happens to her, or to the baby... I'll never forgive you." He snatched the crossbows from her hands and slammed the door on his way out.

Buffy faced her sister and the platinum haired vampire. "I hope you're right about that book. Bring Giles to LA with you if you can, but I need you there either way. And, Dawn," she took her sister by the shoulders. "I need you to stay here at the house no matter what."

"But-"

"No buts. You're Mission Control. We'll be checking in on the cell, and if we get separated from Anya, you're how we'll find her again." Buffy gave her a kiss goodbye and turned back to the closet to retrieve a heavy longsword. She tossed it back and forth between her hands, testing its weight and balance. She smiled grimly. "They have a sword. I have a sword. I can't wait to see who's better at using theirs."

She grabbed her coat on the way out, pausing as she saw Alex's jacket resting beneath it. She swallowed back the emotions rising in her throat. "He'll be cold," she whispered. "He gets cold easily."

"You'll find him," Dawn assured her. "And Robin, too."

Buffy nodded. "Yes. Yes, I will." Her eyes lingered on the length of her blade before she joined the others waiting outside.

* * *

Faith hung up the payphone, catching sight of the woman she'd followed exiting from a side door to the shelter. There were several people with her, one of whom she recognized as Quentin Travers. So that was the game, was it? The Council wanted Faith out of the picture, wanted to activate themselves a new slayer. Maybe the Council wasn't as dead as he made them out to be. Maybe they'd just relocated and blown up their own buildings. This Joseph Zalk guy had tried to kill her, and this woman had something to do with him, and Travers was somehow involved with her. The pieces were all falling into place. If she'd stayed at Buffy's house, Travers would have probably managed to have her killed by now.

They were getting in a car. She needed to find her own transport, and fast. A motorcycle sat unattended a few parking spots down. Another woman in her cellblock had been in for grand theft auto and had tutored Faith in all the necessary skills. Faith had soaked it all in, mostly because it was more interesting than listening to gossip about the newest warden or recaps of the latest Jerry Springer episode. The woman knew her stuff, because less than two minutes later, Faith was buzzing down the street, trying to catch up to the car carrying Quentin Travers.

* * *

Morgaine couldn't remember what her name had been before. Nor could she remember what it had been the last time or the time before that. Sabrina had decided on their names for this incarnation. They had needed to gather themselves a coven, to attract power to themselves, power they could use to fuel the sword, and so they had decided on witchy names. The name Morgaine had dignity and a little nobility to it. She had featured in the legend of King Arthur, had delivered the instrument of his final destruction. Sabrina was just cute, the name of a television witch from a show that pandered to adolescents. But Sabrina had insisted that a cute, saccharin sweet name could only cloak the darker menace that lay beneath. Much as the name Buffy concealed the steel might of a Slayer, a warrior.

In the end, Morgaine wondered where Sabrina's darkness had gone. They had gathered power to themselves, one at a time, but in the end Sabrina could not take them, could not count them among the 280. She had taken the watchers instead, claiming expediency, but Morgaine wondered if her resolve was weakening, if she were growing soft and too attached to the others in their group.

She watched out the beach house window for Sabrina's car. The preparations for the ritual were nearly complete. Tonight the crescent moon would rise, and with it their power. Morgaine thought it should be Willow who lit the sword; she had more power than any of the others. But Sabrina wanted another watcher. The car pulled into the drive. She would see what she thought of this watcher, if he was worthy of being the last.

* * *

Faith parked the motorcycle in the lot for public beach access. She pretended to engage herself with the engine while she watched the beach house a hundred feet away. The car unloaded its passengers, Travers getting out last. This time, seeing him from behind, she could tell his hands were tied behind his back with thick rope.

"Great! Just great!" She had wanted to blame him and hate him for her current predicament, but now it looked like she would have to rescue him instead.

* * *

Morgaine and Sabrina strolled along the beach. The others were in the beach house with Travers and Alex while she and Sabrina scouted the location where the ritual would be performed that night. They walked past the public beach, past a few private houses, and on to where the beach became less sandy and more rocky, less public and more private. Maybe a fifteen minute walk from their rented house.

Sabrina pointed to a spot just ahead, where the rocks rose up to become cliffs, a good hundred and fifty feet above the water line. There were two peaks, with a clearing of sandy beach between them and a fencing of thick forest shielding the beach from the road. They had discovered this spot some time before and decided upon it, renting the beach house for its close proximity.

"There," she said. "We'll put two at each peak, three along the edge of the forest, and you and I will complete the circle of nine at the waterline. We'll need to bring a stake or something. The watcher will need to be tied down if we're to keep him in the symbol until the end of the ceremony. How will we manage that in the sand?"

"A binding ritual."

"Of course!" Sabrina clapped her partner on the shoulder. "I'd be lost without you. No rope then, just magic."

"Are you sure about the seven you chose? That we can count on them?"

She seemed unconcerned. "I told them convincing lies."

"So we can trust them? Even Willow?"

"Willow is firmly in my pocket. She would kill her old friends, I think, if I told her to."

"Don't think, _know_," Morgaine snapped. Sabrina's cavalier attitude was beginning to grate on her. So many things had gone wrong so far, and she had dismissed them all. Four of their group had tried to escape, one at a time, and had needed to be dealt with, leaving the symbol of their order exposed to those who might try and stop them. Joseph had nearly refused them the sword because one potential slayer had escaped. His attempt on Faith had failed, although, granted that was not their fault. Those detectives had stirred up trouble for them, forcing a move to the shelter in LA. And the other watcher had found them by magic and would have blown the whole plan wide open if Willow hadn't caught him spying.

Less than a day to the big payoff, and Morgaine thought that deserved a little worrying, a little hedging of bets.

"Everything will be fine," Sabrina assured her. "This time tomorrow, the power will be mine, and you will have everything I promised you."

"And if the watcher escapes?" Morgaine countered, catching sight of something on the other side of the embankment.

"He won't. You worry too much."

Morgaine pointed behind Sabrina. "Isn't that him? And the Slayer?"

* * *

"Shit!" Faith dragged Travers back by his collar. "They saw us. I told you we should have just taken off while we had the chance. We should have grabbed the kid and hightailed it outta there. Now if we go back for Alex, they'll be waiting for us."

"The boy was too well guarded. If we'd tried to take him too, they'd have caught us all. We couldn't chance it. It was far more important to know where they were planning to perform the ceremony. If she activates the sword, her power will be beyond belief. We need to stop her before that happens."

"And the kid was expendable, huh? A little like slayers. Yeah, well, your plan only works if you live to tell someone about it. Come on." Faith hauled him up by his arm and propelled him into a run towards the road and her waiting stolen motorcycle. They were far short of their goal, and Travers was already wheezing from the exertion. "Jeeze, you watchers spend your lives training potential slayers, and you can't handle a brisk jog?"

"I'm sixty-eight... and for your information... I've never had a slayer."

"It shows." She shoved him towards the woods that cloaked the road from their sight. "Keep going. I'll stall them. Pick me up on the bike down the way."

He was blowing hard to catch his breath. "I don't know... how to operate... a motorbike."

"You're so smart- _figure it out_!" She started running in the opposite direction, towards the beach and their ominous pursuers. Her blood was pounding, her senses soaring, her body feeling completely alive in the way it only did during the hunt and the kill. This was the part she missed, the part that even Buffy didn't understand. For Buffy slaying was a duty, a burden. For Faith it was a joy, what she was built for, what she lived for. Slaying was the high she craved. As Faith, she was worthless. As the Slayer, she meant something. And during the hunt, the fight, the kill, there was no part of her that was Faith.

Buffy had a life outside the slaying, and she resented her calling for interfering with cheerleading and running for homecoming queen and dating a string of losers. The life Faith had was not one anyone would want. Beat down by her abusive father. Put down by her drunken mother. Her childhood had been an endless cycle of screaming and breaking glass and name calling, her father becoming more violent each day, her mother withdrawing further into her own world and deeper into the bottle after each fight. Until the day came that her mother hadn't gotten back up, had just lain on the floor where her father threw her. And twelve-year-old Faith, her own nose bloodied, had mustered up the nerve to hit him back. He'd thrown her through the window for her temerity, and she hadn't gone back in that house again, had turned and run away into the night.

A shiftless, distrustful runaway is what her watcher found. But the woman had instinctively known how to channel Faith's rage into her training, and for the first time in her life Faith knew what it was to be valued and cared for. She knew what it was to actually be good at something. And when she was Called, it was like the Universe was telling her: "They were wrong about you. You _are_ important. You _do_ matter."

She wondered sometimes what her life would be like now if Kakistos hadn't murdered her watcher. Emma Dosser had been the only person in the world who had ever given a damn about her, but in the end Faith hadn't been able to save her, hadn't been good enough, was never good enough, and poor Em must have drawn the short straw to have gotten stuck with her. If she'd gotten Buffy, she might be alive now, because good old Buffy always saved the day.

None of that mattered right now, except to fuel the fire for this fight and this battle. She met the pair halfway, channeling her momentum from running into a flying leap kick, meant to knock each of them to the ground with a blow from each foot.

The instant before impact, her targets vanished, her feet passing through only air. A solid kick to each of their chests would have given her the push-off she needed to regain her footing. Failing that, she landed flat on her butt. She heard laughter behind her and rolled to her knees. The woman she'd been following was standing there, bouncing back and forth on her feet and daring Faith to make another try. The black woman who'd been with her was gone.

Faith tried again. She jumped to her feet and charged the smaller woman, swinging her fist with a windup that would likely break the woman's jaw. Her target disappeared again, and her fist connected with only air… again. She was slammed from behind, knocked onto the ground… _again_. She rolled and pulled herself into a squat.

"Come on, Faith. Did you really think you'd save the day? When have _you_ ever saved the day? It was always Buffy. You were never more than the sidekick."

Faith launched herself at the woman in a fury of flailing arms and legs and a bloodcurdling war cry of rage. She passed through thin air, stumbled, and turned around. The woman was standing behind her, laughing at her.

"What the f-"

Brunette curls bobbed as the woman shook her head in amusement. "Magic. Teleportation. Quite useful with the rising cost of gas and all."

Faith lunged, and the woman dodged easily, not disappearing, but seeming to anticipate the Slayer's every move.

She taunted the Slayer, dancing just beyond reach. "Give it up, Faith. You're worthless. You're not even any good at this."

Faith spun kicked, again flying through empty air as the woman teleported the second before impact. She felt a blow across her shoulders and fell to the ground. The grass beneath her hands began to grow. She blinked her eyes, sure it was her imagination. But tendrils of weeds were wrapping themselves around her wrists. She snapped their hold, struggling to her feet, but tripped before she could stand. She was on her back now, creeping vines crawling up her legs and around her arms. They multiplied faster than she could break their hold.

The woman advanced on her, stood over her, looking down. She sneered at the Slayer, now pinned with chains of green vine.

"You're _nothing_, Faith. You're not even worth killing."

And the woman turned and walked away.

* * *

Travers felt his heart pounding in a rhythm that threatened to split his chest open. Each breath burned his lungs. A man his age was not meant for battle. A man his age was meant to pull the strings from afar. But Faith had delayed his pursuers, and he was nearly to the motorcycle. The forest broke, and he could see the road not even fifty feet ahead. The motorcycle waited for him there, but there was a woman sitting astride it. He stumbled slightly as he stopped his run. It was the black woman from the beach, the same one who had been in the room with him when he first woke after his abduction. Somehow she had beaten him there.

She smiled as she swung her leg over and climbed off the bike.

He doubled back the way he had come, running into the forest, taking a hard right and praying he could lose her in the underbrush. He nearly tripped over a log. He caught himself on a tree and pushed onwards. Her voice echoed behind him, calling him, taunting him. The underbrush crunched with each step, advertising his location to anyone within a hundred meters.

The forest gave way to sand. He was nearing the ocean again, somewhere further down the shore from the location of the ritual. There was no beach here, only rock, rising up to cliffs that towered over the surf. He heard a voice to his left and couldn't help but steal a glance. The second woman, the leader, Sabrina they had called her, she stood leaning against the rock face, watching him in amusement. She waited for the shock and fear to cross his face before she moved to chase him.

The sand shifted with his strides, slowing him down, forcing him to run in slow motion. She had nearly caught up with him when he fell to one knee. His next actions were quick and without thought, the last ditch desperation of an animal backed into a corner. His hands touched the sand as he fell, and he scooped up two fistfuls, twisting and throwing the sand in her face as she came closer.

Her hands scrubbed at her eyes, trying to clear her vision, and she howled in frustration. Travers was already on his feet, running beside the cliffs. A crevice opened in the rock face, and he darted inside, hoping her vision was still too obscured to have seen him.

The terrain was hazardous, slick and uneven, and he picked his way carefully along the crevice towards the water. With any luck he could turn back and make his way along the beach, back towards the beach houses, waterfront condos, and tourist traps they had left earlier. He left no footprints on the rock. If he were very lucky, he could put enough distance between himself and his two kidnappers to elude them.

The crevice opened up to the surf, great boulders tumbling down into the water below, where the ocean waves broke upon their surface. He looked left, then right. There was no path along the shore, no way to travel along the beach in either direction. The cliffs to both sides blocked his way. He was trapped.

Beneath the roar of the ocean and the crash of each wave, he heard the heavy breathing of something less than human. He remembered then the vague warnings that Rupert's young son had given him. _Don't go water_. He felt a presence behind him and knew as clearly as if _he_ were the prophetic one. He took a deep breath and drew himself up straight. He would at least die like a man.

He turned. The Beast struck him down. The surf rolled red with his blood.

* * *

Morgaine stared down at the tangled growth and snapped vines. She glared at Sabrina with an anger she had never imagined she would feel for her friend.

"You let her live? You let her escape?"

Sabrina shrugged off the disbelief in those words and started walking back to their beach house. "She is unimportant. I was more concerned about him."

Morgaine waited a moment before rushing to catch up. "I was taking care of him. You should have trusted me. You should have focused on her."

"What's done is done. She is gone, and he is dead. Let's move on." She fished in her pockets for the rental keys and then tossed them back and forth in her hands, their steady clang setting a rhythm that matched their strides. "If she tries to interfere in our ceremony, we will kill her then. Otherwise, she can remain Joseph's problem."

Morgaine studied her friend sideways. "And who will light the sword?" She watched her friend's thoughtful features as the other woman considered and discarded several options. They walked in silence the remaining distance to the house.

Inside, the others of the coven were putting things back in order. Only one witch had been knocked out, and three others were forming a healing circle around her. Apparently Faith had opted for stealth rather then force. No one else had been aware of Travers' disappearance until his guard began to painfully regain consciousness. They apologized profusely for their failure, but Sabrina was forgiving and placed no blame. Only Morgaine noticed how Sabrina studied each of them, sizing up their power and possible use as the final sacrifice.

Willow was the only one missing. She would not come until nightfall. Sabrina claimed this was so she could keep watch over the others at the shelter, but Morgaine suspected her hold over the witch was not as complete as she claimed. She suspected Sabrina knew that if Willow saw the boy, she would see them for what they were, would finally comprehend what her power was being used for. More than any of the others, Sabrina wanted to believe she owned Willow. And Morgaine was beginning to realize that her hold over Willow, over all of them, was more tenuous than she wanted to admit.

They retired into a back bedroom, and Morgaine set the wards without thought.

"I think it should be Willow," she insisted. "She is more powerful than any of the others."

"No." Sabrina vetoed that choice quickly.

"You're going soft. You're attached to her," Morgaine accused. "When this is all over, do you really think she will have any place with us? She will have to die one way or another."

Sabrina watched through the window as the ocean chased the shoreline. "Maybe. Maybe not. There are two kinds of people in this world, Morgaine. One man can betray his morals and commit an act so evil that it will haunt him for the rest of his days. And in evil, he finds redemption, turns back to the straight and narrow, and spends the rest of his life trying to atone for his sin. Another man can be driven to the same act, and yet for him it severs his ties to the man he once was. And that man will spend the rest of his life doing more and greater evil, trying to prove to himself that he is the monster he thinks he is.

"I want to know which Willow is. When she learns what her power has wrought, will that knowledge reform her, or will it drive her deeper into the arms of darkness? Will she belong to us, or will she return to them? And will they welcome her or hate her for what she has done? I find these questions interesting."

"You are a coward."

"Excuse me?"

Morgaine crossed her arms, the reservations she had accumulated over the last few weeks now pouring out in a torrent. "Those are all very good excuses. You want to see how evil you can make Willow. You want to see how long before the watcher goes insane. You would rather take the Council than any of our coven. The fact is you've gone soft. All these years spent living among them, and you've developed empathy, sympathy, _feelings_. You can't kill them because you know them. You _care_ about them."

Sabrina turned from the window, stepped toe to toe with the fellow witch. "Careful what you say. Maybe I'll prove you wrong. Maybe I'll make _you_ the sacrifice."

She laughed in her face. "Hah! I'm not afraid of you, Sabrina. Aside from your mind games and until you activate the sword, my power is equal to yours. You know I'm right. Tell me, oh heartless one, when Joseph delivered the sword, did you call fire down upon him and all who served him? Or did you spare him?"

"Because I do not choose to kill indiscriminately does not make me compassionate or merciful. What would Joseph's death have gained me, and what does his life cost me? I have my reasons for the Council, and I won't hesitate to kill any member of the coven who betrays us. As for the watcher… do you have any doubt that I have given him the worst kind of lingering death? That he is even now praying to the darkness that has become his whole world, praying for some kind of end, some kind of release?" She turned back to the window and its ocean view. "As for Willow, if this breaks the last of her spirit, she will make an impressive ally. And if she returns to her do-good ways, we can always kill her then. But think, Morgaine: if we make her the sacrifice, will we not lose the loyalty of the rest of the coven? We need nine for this last spell. After that, we can kill the whole lot of them if you like, if it will convince you that my heart is pure and untainted by love."

Morgaine bowed her head. She wanted to believe her friend. They had been through so much together. They had worked towards this moment. Maybe she was just getting jittery now that they were so close to the end. Maybe that's why she was having doubts.

"Fine. You will have my trust and my faith. I will stand beside you without question, obey you without hesitation, if you do this one thing for me."

Their eyes met. "Name it."

"Make the boy the sacrifice." Morgaine could see the other's eyes widen, her head shaking in denial. She pressed forward. "The others will not question it. He is a watcher's child, and you already lied to them; you already told them the spell required a watcher's blood. They do not need to know the boy will die for it. They will accept your decision, especially now that Travers has escaped. Not knowing that he is dead, not knowing that the Council is in ruins, they will fear the Council's reprisals even more. And the boy is worth little to us alive."

"The boy has power."

"And his power will be yours. The sword will give you his power and all the ones who came before. You claim you want to see which path Willow will take. What will it do to her to learn she has killed a child she loved? What will it do to the others to learn they were a part of it? There is every reason to make him the sacrifice and no excuse not to. So are you still dark, Sabrina? Are you still worthy of the sword?"

She stepped forward, her pale hands framing Morgaine's darker features. She bent the woman's head down to place a kiss across her brow. "And if I am willing to kill a child, will that prove that I am still the same woman I have always been? Will that earn your trust?"

"Yes."

"I had wanted the boy for other things… to mold him into something… something that would have been a wonder to behold." Sabrina smiled and leaned closer until their foreheads were touching. Her voice was an intimate whisper between lovers. "But for you. For you I will sacrifice him. To keep your loyalty and friendship. To prove your value to me. I will do what you ask. Tonight, he will light the sword."

Morgaine closed her eyes and leaned into the other's embrace. So close. Morning would see it finished.

* * *

Buffy had her feet propped up on the dashboard. Giles never let her do that. Her head was turned to the window, watching the world pass by them. The top was down, and the wind played with her hair, valiantly struggling to free it from its ponytail. Xander was driving. He tried to engage her in conversation sometimes. Sometimes it worked, sometimes she just pretended like she couldn't hear him over the sound of the wind and the road. Anya sat in the backseat, napping with her head resting against the glass.

It seemed like the longest two hours of her life.

"How much longer?" she asked him finally.

"I think it's been two miles since you asked the last time."

"Oh, yeah." She sighed and looked out the window again. Two more miles passed before she looked at him again. "How fast are you going? You know, Beemers are designed to go fast."

He glanced over at her patiently. More patiently than she would have expected. She knew she was being a pain in the ass. "Yes, and getting there in one piece also has its advantages."

"So no call from Dawn yet? No new news about Giles or Faith?"

She could see now that he was beginning to get irritated. "Are we riding in the same car? Or do you think I'm in some parallel dimension car where I'm answering phone calls you don't hear?"

"Okay, so no phone calls." She rested her head back and looked up at the sky. The afternoon sun was falling closer to the horizon. They would reach LA by four. The rendezvous would be at five. The sun would probably set by seven. Call it a slayer's sixth sense, but Buffy had a powerful feeling that time was running short. "You think Spike will be able to fix Giles? You think that book will really do anything?"

Xander pretended he hadn't heard her questions.

"It's okay, Xander. We're going to find Alex either way. And Robin. And even if we can't fix Giles today, we'll figure it out eventually."

He nodded and glanced over at her, giving her a sympathetic shrug. "I just don't want you to get your hopes too high, and have it not work."

"Gotcha." She measured an inch out between her fingers. "This much hope and no more." She looked over at Xander again. "You think Dawn will be okay by herself? You think those vampires will come back tonight?"

"Nah, I think they got what they came for. She'll be fine. Besides, she's not alone. Spike's with her."

"Yeah, Spike."

They both drifted into a thoughtful silence. They looked at each other a moment later.

Xander frowned. "I'm just starting to realize… Leaving Spike alone with Dawn… Isn't that kind of like leaving a fox to guard the hen house?"

Buffy frowned and reached for the cell phone. "Yeah, I was just thinking the same thing. You think I should call?"

"And if there's anything going on, do you really want to know?"

Buffy set the phone down and made a face. "Ick! Spike and my sister. What did I do to deserve that?"

"The less forgiving among us might say… oh, I don't know… _Angel_. But that's neither here nor there."

She glared. "Bite me." They returned to their separate thoughts, the hum of the road, the whoosh of the wind over them, the warmth of the afternoon sun on their faces.

Buffy's patience ran out quickly. "How much longer?"

"Would you like to walk?"

She sighed and shifted her feet on the dashboard. "You know, I can't help but feel like I've already fought this battle. The whole twins getting kidnapped thing… been there, done that. You would think having your children stolen would be a once-in-a-lifetime experience. But not for Buffy, no siree. I guess Fate is running low on creativity."

"I don't know, Buffy. I mean, look at Dawn. How many times have we had to go rescue her? Way more than the twins."

She considered his words and had to admit he had a point. "I guess you're right. Maybe everyone I love is just doomed to get hurt. Slayers should come with a warning label: knowing this girl may cause kidnapping, torture, coma, or death. Approach with extreme caution."

"You're being too hard on yourself. Hey, we're buds, right? And no one's had to rescue me since high school." His eyes widened, and he gripped the steering wheel tighter. "Oh God, I just jinxed myself, didn't I? Something terrible's going to happen now, isn't it? Oh God, why did I have to say that? Stupid, stupid."

She laughed. "It's okay, Xander. I'm sure nothing's going to happen to you."

He groaned. "Now you've jinxed me too. Double jinxed. I'm doomed. Maybe I should stay in the car with Anya tonight."

* * *

_He did not come at the dawning. He did not come at noon; and out of the tawny sunset, before the rise of the moon. When the road was a gypsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor, a red-coat troop came marching, marching, marching, King George's men came matching, up to the old inn-door._

The light was bright, brighter than he could bear. He clenched his eyes shut against it and pressed his head into his knees. He could feel the cool air across his skin, the unyielding stone against his back, and knew that she had brought him back to her circle.

_Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath, then her finger moved in the moonlight, her musket shattered the moonlight, shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him with her death. "And has thou slain the jabberwock? Come to my arms, my beamish boy! O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!" He chortled in his joy._

He felt her touch on the back of his neck. It burned like fire for one so numb for so long. He jumped away from her, his head still bowed. The light was overwhelming. Touch, sound, sight, it was overpowering; it was sensory overload. Movement felt awkward, as if his body belonged to someone else, as if he had to reacquaint himself with how to work it properly.

He tried to keep the recitation going, though it had started to lose cohesion sometime before, though it had started to flow and seep together. He tried to focus on the words. She must see nothing in him. He must betray nothing.

_He took his vorpal sword in hand: long time the manxome foe he sought. Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day, then look for me by moonlight, watch for me by moonlight, I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way._

"I thought you should know," she whispered. Her voice was soft, and still it sounded like thunder. He covered his ears and groaned. "I thought you should know that Travers is dead. You are the last watcher."

_Back, he spurred like a madman, shouting a curse to the sky, with the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high. One, two! One, two! And through and through the vorpal blade went snicker-snack! Blood-red were his spurs in the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat_-

"I thought you should also know that I have your son."

That caught his attention, motivated him to lift his head to see her. He felt the tremor go through his body, and it shook him to the core. She smiled at him, and he hated her. But in the end he could do nothing but drop his head back to his knees and curl tighter into himself. There was nothing he could do for Alex. Not like this.

"Ah, so that's his name. Alex."

He bit his lip, allowing the pain to drive out all other thought. Nothing. Nothing. She must see nothing. He started again.

_You ask how many of your kisses are enough for me? As great a number of Lybian sand lies in silphium rich Cyrene between the oracle of sweltering Jove and the sacred tomb of old Battus. One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize tonight, but I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light_-

"Your son's power is different than any other I've tasted. I can't read him. I can't see through him. He is a blank slate to me. I find him incredibly fascinating for that very reason."

He felt her fist in the back of his hair, pulling his head up to meet her eyes. He blinked to clear his vision, squinting against the unaccustomed light. He felt the warmth of her breath on his face as she leaned in close.

"Don't skip out on me yet. You'll have all the time in the world to go mad later. We were talking about your son."

"You see the darkness in people," he told her. His voice felt strange in his own ears. His lips moved silently, as if practicing before speaking again. "You saw all my fears, my weaknesses, the moments in my life at which I have felt my greatest losses." He allowed his eyes to meet hers. "He is a child. Innocent. There is no darkness in him, no loss, no despair. There is nothing for you to see. You are blind to anything that is good."

She released her grip on his hair, ran her fingers through its curls, and kissed him fondly at his temple. "Even half-sane, you are a wise man, Rupert Giles."

He bowed his head again, the touch of her lips on his skin still warm, a lingering kiss that would not end. The words. He must fill his head with words.

_Separated lovers belie absence by a thousand chimeric things that have their own reality. They are prevented from seeing each other, they cannot write to each other; they find a host of mysterious ways to correspond. They exchange the song of the birds, the perfume of flowers, children's laughter, sunlight, the sighs of the wind, the starlight, the whole of creation. O Spring! You are a letter that I write to her._

"Pity that I won't get to see what kind of power he would grow into. But Travers is dead. So now your son will be the sacrifice. Your son will be the one that lights my sword."

Giles rocked with his grief. He had never felt so helpless in his life. His mind blanked on all the words that had flowed before like water through his consciousness. He could think of nothing but his son. Memories of a tiny infant, cradled close as he worked the register at the Magic Box. First steps across the training room mat as his mother did headstands for his entertainment. Trips to the zoo and bedtime stories. Eager hands that stretched for his father's tea each morning. A trusting smile before the unexpected leap from the second-floor railing at the store, knowing his father would catch him. The tears from a pair of scraped knees, so easily soothed with a tight embrace and a soft lullaby.

Giles lifted his head, his eyes seeking her out, pleading with her. "Please." She was standing not even two feet away. He made his body move towards her, his movements stiff and halting. He was on his knees before her, his hands held out in supplication. "Please. Take me instead. Make me the sacrifice."

She took his hand, and he grasped hers in both of his. He bent his head to rest against their joined hands. What Angelus couldn't take, he was willing to offer freely. She could have him: body, mind, heart, soul, whatever she wanted. He would give anything to save his son. "Please," he begged her, his tears wetting their hands. "Please, my life for his."

"It's not my choice to make. Morgaine wants him, and so she shall have him."

"No," he breathed, his body beginning to shake when he could no longer hold back his sobs. "Anything. I'll do anything."

"I only came to see what I could of him in your mind. He's quite a stubborn little thing. He tells me nothing." She pulled her hand from his grip, and he folded to the ground with the loss of contact. He was broken, as nothing in his life had ever broken him before. "I also came to say goodbye," she told him. "Tonight everything will be finished, and I won't be back to see you again. I wanted to thank you. You've made the time pass more quickly. For me, at least."

She started walking backwards, away from him. His heart hammered with his panic. His breath caught with his tears. He stretched his hands towards her. The thought that the last living person he would ever see would be this… this monster, taunting him with his son's death… it was beyond bearing, and yet he wanted her to stay. Until she was gone, there was still a chance. There had to be something he could say, something he could do to change her mind.

But she was wavering, disappearing, and the circle of stones inside the grove of trees was fading. He curled his fists into the grass, digging his fingers into the dirt beneath, as if he could hold himself there by force of will. His vision was growing dark, and he shook his head while he still could, his voice repeating one word for as long as he could: "No, no, no,no no nononono…"

But the darkness was coming, and everything else was fading. The sound of his voice in his ears gave way to silence, and he was back in his mental prison. No sound, no sight, no touch, no sensation. His grief was a silent weeping in his soul. His thoughts continued to echo in his mind, a constant mantra, as if he had any power to deny what was to come.

_No. No. No, no, no,no,no no nonononono…_

_Alex!_

* * *

Anya was parked in the public lot just off the beach. The top was up now, and the doors locked. Buffy and Xander could see her from where they sat on a bench near the pier. She kept the engine running. She was still fairly convinced they would need to make a speedy getaway.

Buffy watched the crowd for Faith, for anyone who looked suspicious. It was daylight at least, but that didn't preclude other kinds of monsters. She wasn't wearing a watch, but she continually grabbed Xander's hand to look at his. He finally took it off and handed it to her. By a quarter after five, she was getting nervous.

"Calm down, Buffy. Punctuality is not exactly one of Faith's good qualities."

"Yeah, I'm trying to remember what is."

Before Xander could answer with a pithy reply to lighten her mood, she caught sight of the dark slayer walking towards them from the parking lot. Xander's eyes immediately searched out his wife, assuring himself that she was still tucked safely in the car, untouched by Faith.

Faith had stolen clothes more suitable than Buffy's cast offs: black leather pants and boots, a red halter, tied in back with string. Her lips were painted red as blood. Her dark eyes were lined with black. Buffy had never hated so her much, not even seeing her in Angel's arms. Buffy was on her feet, moving, burning with rage, meeting the other slayer halfway and, with a swing, aiming to put real blood on those blood red lips.

Faith ducked and dodged again and again, but she made no attempt to return the blows, not even when Buffy nailed her in the stomach, nor when her fist connected with her jaw.

"Where are my children?" she asked with each strike.

"So, B, we gonna dance all night, or we gonna cut to the chase?"

Buffy stopped mid-swing, waiting, panting with exertion and high emotion.

"I didn't take them. I was following the guy who set me up in prison, and I saw some woman leave with Alex. Okay? I'm on your side here, B."

Buffy felt Xander's presence behind her, but didn't turn. She continued to watch Faith intently. "You're going to take me to them, and if you double-cross me, I'll put you in the kind of coma you don't wake up from. We clear?"

"Crystal."

Faith started back towards the parking lot, the other two following behind her. She was surreptitiously wiping blood from her mouth, smearing her lipstick across her hand at the same time. She looked sideways at Buffy several times, as if working up the courage to tell her something. "Look, I only know where Alex is. I never saw the girl."

Buffy tried to push down the stab of disappointment. "Well, it's a start. We'll find him, then we'll find her."

But they found neither. The beach house was abandoned. A message of sorts was left for them. The body of a young man lay on an upstairs bed, his shirt open and spread apart to display the burned mark of Camela across his chest. A greeting card rested on his stomach, a flowery Hallmark one from one of those machines where you could design your own. Buffy picked it up and read it.

"Roses are red, violets are blue, interfere with our plans, and I'll kill you too."

* * *

The others were packing the car. As far as they were concerned, the watcher had escaped, and they were trying to stay ahead of the Council. Somehow just the knowledge that the boy was a watcher's son had made him seem less sympathetic, and no one had balked at using him in the ceremony. Perhaps if they knew it would kill him… But that was something they could all regret later.

Sabrina pretended to be worried, concerned for everyone's safety, remorseful that the boy needed to be a part of all this. Morgaine played the same part. But when her friend looked at her, she could see Morgaine's irritation at their forced move so close to the ceremony, her irritation that Sabrina had let the Slayer go. Perhaps she was right to be angry. Sabrina wasn't sure why she hadn't killed Faith, except that it had seemed worse not to, in the same way it was worse to leave Giles locked away in the darkness. The Slayer wanted death, or had wanted it at one time. Words had echoed through Faith's head, memories of another battle. _I'm bad… I'm bad… Just do it… please. Just kill me…_ And so Sabrina had found more satisfaction in walking away than in delivering the final blow.

Her friend's anger would pass. And with the boy as the sacrifice, their friendship would be mended. If the Slayer came, she would be killed, and if she didn't, she could stew on her failure for the rest of her days.

Jonathon approached her, asked to speak with her a moment. Sabrina could see in an instant what he wanted, but she smiled cordially and told the others to go on without her. She stopped Morgaine at the threshold.

"See if they won't give us a room with a balcony. It would be nice to have a view."

And then she was alone with the young man. She waited for him to say the words she already saw in his mind.

"I can't do it, Sabrina. The magic was cool and everything, and you taught me so much, but… I don't know. It just feels kinda wrong now. Like maybe these guys chasing us… Maybe if they want us so badly, maybe they have a point and we shouldn't be doing some of the stuff we're doing. And now this kid… He's just a kid, you know? I can't do it."

Sabrina smiled. Inside she was fuming. Here was this seventeen-year-old nothing she had taken off the streets of LA, given shelter and guidance to, brought into her inner circle, and this was how he repaid her? But she shrugged her shoulders and feigned indifference. "Sure, Jonathon. I'm not going to try and make you do something you're not comfortable with. Go back to the shelter if you want. I'll have Willow bring someone else to be the ninth."

"Well, umm… I kinda thought maybe I'd go home. I talked to my Mom the other day… I don't think it would be so bad now, give high school another go."

"Sure." Sabrina smiled wider. "Good luck with that."

He seemed relieved that she wasn't angry with him. She curled her fingers into fists, feeling the magic thrum to life in answer to her call. At first he didn't put it together; he just scratched absently at his chest. But then his eyes widened as he looked at her. He wasn't such a stupid boy after all.

He ripped his shirt open, buttons flying, and stared down at the symbol painted across his chest, now flaring into an angry red. He stumbled back, his hand pressed over his heart that now hammered in an unnatural rhythm.

"The symbol does work nicely for joining," she told him. "Joining you to me, not to the group. Pity you couldn't be a team player. For some reason the runaways were always harder to control than the sorority girls. Maybe sorority girls are just more naturally the follow-the-leader types."

He fell to the ground, gasping for breath, doubled over now that the symbol began to blister and blacken as it burned through.

"Awful young for a heart attack, but these things can't always be predicted."

She watched him die. Never one to waste opportunity, she decided that he could be the message she left behind in case the Slayer dared to return.

* * *

Dawn lit the candles that rested on the floor at the four points of Giles' bed. She hoped this would work sooner rather than later, because the nurse was supposed to be there at six, and Dawn wasn't sure how she would explain to the woman that they needed to wait and see if her vampire boyfriend's spell would work before they would know if Giles still needed caring for or not. Dawn sighed. Her thoughts were babbling again.

She looked over at Spike, sitting on the edge of the bed, studying the book in his hands. He looked way less nervous than she was. "So why does every spell need candles? What's so special about candles anyway?"

He glanced up at her. "Do I look like I made this stuff up? I'm just doing what the book says to do."

"Sorry."

He relented, and his expression softened. "Sorry, Lil Bit. Didn't mean to snap at you. Truth be told, I might be the teeniest bit nervous 'bout doing this spell."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. If it doesn't work… I don't relish the idea of gettin' stuck in Rupe's head for any amount of time." His eyes traveled over the still figure of the man Dawn had grown to love as a friend and as the kind of father she'd always wished she'd had. "If I get stuck in there too, I think I'd rather you staked me than leave me like that."

"Spike, no!" She rushed into his arms, and he held her passionately, his cheek resting against her hair.

He titled her head up and kissed her softly on the lips. "Promise me, Dawn. If something happens, you'll make Buffy do it."

She nodded solemnly, tears slipping down her cheeks. She gave him a brave smile and a soggy laugh, turning it into a joke, wanting him not to be worried about her at this particular moment. "I think she'd have to fight Xander for the chance."

He laughed too, perhaps seeing through her attempts at humor. He looked back at the man he was about to risk his life for, his smile fading. "I know the lot of you don't want to think about it… But have you considered that he wouldn't want to stay like that neither? Keeping him alive like this, it's not the kindest thing you could do for him. I'd break the poor bastard's neck myself if I didn't have this blasted chip."

"Spike, no! Stop it." She tried to worm herself out of his grip, but he held her fast.

"Dawn, look at me." She did, tears blurring her vision. "You know I'm right about this. Buffy'd put me out of my misery fast enough, but she'd never be able to do the same for him. Xander probably couldn't either. Anya might. She's the only one you could ask. She might not be able to do it with her own hands, but she'd find a way. Something in his IV would do it right quick." He pulled her into a close embrace, let her cry herself out against his shoulder. "Promise me, Dawn. Promise that if something goes wrong with this spell, that he'll get the same mercy I would."

She nodded against his shoulder, unable to bring herself to say the words aloud.

"Right then. Now that that's taken care of, let's get this show on the road, shall we? Twins in peril and all that." He took her by the shoulders and held her out at arm's length. He brushed the tears from her cheeks and tapped her beneath her chin fondly. "Buck up, Niblet, everything's going to be fine. You'll see. All puppy dogs and kittens and running through the daisies. I promise."

She nodded and sniffled. She didn't seem able to do much talking right now. With one last glance over the spell, he handed her the book and climbed onto the bed beside Giles. She clutched the book against her chest and stepped out of the sacred space they had made with the candles and incense.

With her back against the wall, and her knuckles turning white around the book, she finally found her voice. "Spike!"

He turned his head to look at her.

"I love you."

His eyes studied her with that intense soul-penetrating stare that she always found so sexy. "You're the only good thing that ever has."

He closed his eyes and began the incantation he'd memorized from the book. His hand moved to the side and found Giles'. He interlaced their fingers, and then he was as still as the watcher.

* * *

Alex sat on the bed in their new hotel, watching the lady watch him. She had offered to take him for a walk on the beach earlier, but he didn't want to go. He remembered his dream, and he didn't want to go to the beach. Now she was offering him a Happy Meal from McDonalds, and he was hungry, so he took it. But he wouldn't say anything to her. He wouldn't even say thank you, like his father always told him he should.

"So, Alex…" The lady knew his name now. She said his father told her, but he didn't believe her. "What do you want to do before bed? You want to watch a movie? Disney?"

He shook his head, intent on his french fries. He didn't want to do anything the lady wanted him to do. Maybe if he was naughty enough, she wouldn't want him anymore and she would give him back. He dunked his fries in the ketchup and dripped it across the bedspread. He watched her defiantly.

She only laughed. "That's okay. We're only renting. Make as much of a mess as you like." She took one of his fries and dribbled ketchup across the bed also before eating it herself. "You're a cutie, aren't you? Wish I had more time with you. I had such big plans for you, little boy. I wanted to see what kind of power you would have had as a man, if it would have equaled what your father's power could have been, unchained." She sighed and ruffled his hair. He didn't flinch back, just took a bite of his hamburger. "But I need you for a spell tonight. So this is sort of your last meal, although you probably don't understand what that means." She pulled the toy surprise from his bag: a colorful plastic whistle. "I figured Happy Meal, good choice. Kids like McDonald's, don't they?" She handed the whistle to him, and Alex put it in the front pocket of his overalls. "You want some ice cream after dinner?"

He scowled at her, his best angry face, the one he gave his father when he didn't want a time out or to go to bed, and the one he gave his mother when she wouldn't take him to the park or read him a story.

He finally said something to the lady. He told her, "Mommy beat you up."

The lady laughed. "If your Mommy tries, I'll kill her."

Alex took a long drink from his orange soda, trying to be a brave boy and not cry. He knew his Mommy would come. Mommy's job was stopping bad guys like this lady. But he didn't want anything bad to happen to her either. He didn't want the mean lady to hurt her.

But Mommy was strong and brave, and she would win. He told the lady again with conviction, "Mommy beat you up."

The lady laughed, and ruffled his hair, and left him alone.

* * *

_One can no more keep the mind from returning to an idea than the sea from returning to a shore_.

He wondered how much time had passed. He wondered if his son were dead yet or alive and if he would know when it happened, if he would feel it. He wondered if his child were crying for him.

_Beware the jabberwock, my son. The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!_

He thought of Robin, that he would never know what fate had befallen her. Was she with Sabrina? Was she with her brother? Or was she alone and frightened?

_Whichever way it plays out, whether she will belong to you or to the darkness, I sensed that magic will be what tips the scales in either direction_.

He thought of Buffy. He prayed that she would find them in time. And if not… He wondered how she would cope with the loss of their children, how she would bear it by herself. Would she crumble as she had after Glory took Dawn? Would she be trapped inside her own mind as he was now trapped inside his? Would they lay her body down beside his, the pair of them a mockery of living?

_Oh, to be laid side by side in the same tomb, hand clasped in hand, and from time to time, in the darkness, to caress a finger gently, that would be enough for my eternity._

But mostly when he thought of Buffy, he ached for her. He missed her. He wished that he could still hear her voice at least, even if he couldn't answer. He imagined that she must sit beside him and talk to him sometimes, his Buffy. He wished he could hear the words she spoke to him.

_There is a strange thing- do you know what? I am in the night. There is a being who has gone away and carried the heavens with her. But overcome space, and all we have left is Here. Overcome time, and all we have left is Now. And in the middle of Here and Now, don't you think that we might see each other once or twice?_

He knew he was losing focus. He knew his mind was slipping. The words continued to fragment and come together. He was skipping across passages and books. One sentence would blur into the next. It wasn't working anymore. It wasn't keeping him anchored. And yet, he didn't know what else to try.

_That you have but slumber'd here while these visions did appear. And this weak and idle theme, no more yielding but a dream._

He imagined that he saw light. He wondered if it were the first of the hallucinations to come. Did people choose to go mad? Did it offer them a pleasant escape? He wondered if he might like it, if he might even believe that he were home with Buffy and the children. If madness were nothing more than a Sunday sleep-in with his wife and twins, the television playing cartoons and the paper folded out across his lap… maybe it would be better than this, whatever this was.

But he could not go gentle into that good night. It was not in his nature to lay down his sword and admit defeat. So he would stubbornly hold on to sanity for as long as he could. He would fill his head with nursery rhymes and sonnets and the lullabies his mother sang to him as a child. He would see what good a watcher's memory was to him now.

_I talk of dreams, which are the children of an idle brain, begot of nothing but vain fantasy; which is as thin of substance as the air, and more inconstant than the wind. For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, when we have shuffled off this mortal coil, must give us pause: there's the respect that makes calamity of so long life; for who would bear the whips and scorns of time, the oppressor's wrong…_

But the light would not be ignored. It grew brighter. He shut his eyes against it and realized he _could_ shut his eyes, and so he opened them again. He made each hand into a fist and stretched them open. His nerves tingled with feeling, the feel of breath, of life. He blinked his eyes and searched his surroundings.

_'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves did gyre and gimble in the wabe; All mimsy were the borogoves, and the mome raths outgrabe._

It was dank and dark, and he knew this place. It was Spike's crypt.

"Well, hello, Watcher."

He flinched and put his hands to his ears. The vampire's voice was loud. He curled into a ball, pulled his legs into his chest, and dropped his head to his knees. He wondered why Sabrina would come to him as Spike.

_And as in uffish thought he stood, down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill, the highwayman came riding, riding, riding, the redcoats looked to their priming!_

"No hello? No, gee, Spike, thanks for risking life and limb to rescue me? No grudging respect for the vampire who found the book _and_ the spell while the Scoobies were still trying to muss out how to play watcher in your absence?" He laughed, and it echoed through the crypt. "Thankless bastard. See if I ever go out on a limb for you again. Right then. Let's go."

_The reduction of the universe to a single being, the expansion of a single being into God, this is love. Love is the salutation of the angel to the stars. How sad the soul when it is sad from love!_

"Are you deaf? I said let's go."

_Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did not hear?_

He felt the vampire's hand on his arm, hauling him to his feet. He wavered where he stood, unused to keeping his balance. Spike held him steady.

"Time. To. Be. Going. Then." The vampire enunciated it slowly, as if speaking to a small child.

He lifted his eyes. He was tired of these games. He was tired of her cruel tricks. _Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me_. He might have believed for a moment that he had been holding Jenny, might have even believed that she was Buffy, but that time was past. He was not going to believe that she was Spike. Did she think she could make him believe he was being rescued, raise his hopes, and then pull the rug out from under him? What perverse satisfaction could that give her? How bored must she be?

He wrenched his arm from her grasp, stumbled several steps, and caught himself on the stone sarcophagus to keep from falling over. "Piss off, Sabrina. Send me back and let me be."

"Who?" Spike looked around the room, as if checking to make sure they were alone. "Bloody hell. Look who's gone off the deep end." He tapped himself on the chest. "Spike. Spi-ike. William the Bloody. He who you love to hate…? Undeserving of the love of the littlest Summers…? Am I ringing any bells here?"

Giles shook his head, trying to clear it, and lowered himself to the ground. "You pulled all of that from my mind. I'm not falling for it this time." He looked into Spike's eyes, tried to see the sorceress behind them. "Have you come to tell me my son is dead? I don't think I want to hear it. You said you weren't coming back again. I think I'd rather you kept that promise."

The vampire came closer, studying him. "Oh, I get it. Someone's been mucking about in your head. Hmm… Let's see. How do I convince the Watcher I'm me?" He snapped his fingers and pointed. "Oooh, I got it! When I was staying at your house and your merry band of children were off in college having a life without you, bet you never told them I used to beat you at Jeopardy all the time. Nasty blow to your ego, that was."

Giles glared. "I would expect someone who has lived through a hundred more years of history than I have to be at somewhat of an advantage." He rested his head back against the stone coffin. "Besides, you could have gotten that from my head same as the rest of it."

Spike frowned and tried again. "Remember when Buffy was in the hospital, almost lost the babies? We were smoking in the lobby together. Bet you never told her that."

"Actually she figured that out all on her own. I smelled of it."

Spike sat on the ground beside him, both of them leaning back against the sarcophagus. "The next time she landed in the hospital… Skovish demon, wasn't it? Anyway, she was in surgery for hours, in the ICU for days after that. Bet you never told her I took you out and got you thoroughly sloshed."

He chuckled slightly. "No. I was thankfully able to keep that to myself. I think she would have been mortified to learn her husband got picked up by a fellow officer, even if he understood the circumstances and let me go with a warning."

"No, no, no. She was still in college then. You're thinking of the next time, after that run in with those-"

"The Disciples of Hnong. Right." He turned his head and studied Spike with a puzzled frown. "You do seem to have a tendency towards getting me tanked in moments of crisis."

Spike shrugged off the assessment with a knowing smirk. "Well, you are loads more fun when you're drunk."

"Actually, under those circumstances, I believe I made more of a bitter, angry, pathetic drunk."

"Yeah. Like I said: more fun." Spike elbowed him in the side, but Giles' skills at keeping his balance were rusty, and Spike had to snatch his arm to keep him from toppling over. "So, Watcher, have I convinced you that I am who I say I am?"

"No."

"No?"

"No." Giles sighed. "It's rather a Catch 22 you've found yourself in. Anything you could tell me to confirm your identity is something she would just as easily know as well. Anything that wasn't in my head for her to find… well, you could tell me, but I wouldn't know for sure that you weren't just making it up."

Spike jumped to his feet and started pacing. "You gotta be kidding me! Do you have any idea how hard it was to find you in here? And now you're just going to stay here? I don't think so." He stormed back across the crypt, stopping directly in front of the watcher. "Snap out of it and let's get the hell outta here!" Spike struck him across the face hard. But it was Spike who cried out in pain, as his chip brought him to his knees, clutching his head in pain.

Giles merely rubbed his jaw and watched dispassionately.

Spike threw an accusatory glare upwards at the Powers That Be. "For the love of… This isn't even frickin' real, and I can't hit him? Who made up those rules?" He brought his angry gaze back level with the watcher. "See here: I can't leave here without you. It's part of the spell. And I don't fancy spending the next fifty years trolling through your head for a bit of entertainment. I think I'd rather die."

"Think me up some wood, and I'll oblige you."

"Ha ha. Very funny. Regular comedian."

"Hold on." Giles clenched his eyes shut in concentration. His head was still all muddled, stray bits of quotes and phrases crowding in his brain. It was hard to hold onto to anything for any length of time. "I think I had a thought."

"Well, there's a news flash. Careful or it'll dribble out the other ear."

"Shut up, Spike!" he snapped. "Something about staking you." He pressed his hands to his head, as if he could push out all the useless clutter. He rocked slightly, as an autistic might, as he tried to focus. "When she was Buffy, she had slayer strength. The strengths… and the _weaknesses_ of the form she takes." His eyes popped open in triumph. "When you come to me as Spike, I can stake you."

The vampire backed up several paces. "You know, I'm suddenly not liking the new, improved, less-than-sane Rupert." He stopped his retreat. "Wait a sec. You don't have a stake. What am I worried about?"

"No, but…" Giles scanned the crypt with his eyes. "This is a fairly good representation of the real thing, in which case I know where you keep your arsenal." He sighed and laid his head back against the stone.

"But you're not going to stake me?"

"No, I'm not."

"Good. As long as no one's getting staked."

"You'd only change form before I could do it."

"Damn straight I would."

Giles sighed. He was so weary of this, these games, this nightmare. He just wished it would be over.

Spike approached him again, tentatively, and resumed his seat beside him. "Has it occurred to you that I might be the real thing? That maybe you could go home now?"

Giles tilted his head slightly in acknowledgement. "It has. It's also crossed my mind that you might be a delusion, a manifestation of my somewhat tenuous grip on sanity." He frowned. "Although, if you are, I'm quite disappointed in myself. I can think of much better hallucinations than a chit-chat with Spike of all people."

The vampire leaned forward slightly and placed himself in the other's line of sight. "What do you say we take a chance? See which one I am? Come back with me. Where's the harm in giving it a shot?"

"Where's the harm?" Giles chuckled mirthlessly and then descended into a dark and brooding silence. _Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, it shall clasp a sainted maiden…_ When he spoke again, it was with hushed voice and bowed head. "Where's the harm? There's a small chance you might be real. While we're just sitting here talking, I can let myself believe it, if only a little. But I know that there's a greater chance that you're not, that you're her or me. Either one ends the same… back in the darkness." He swallowed and clenched his hands into fists, clenched them tightly enough that he could feel his fingernails bite into his palms. He wanted to assure himself that he could still feel something. "I'm trying… Do you know, I don't think I dream while I'm there, or sleep? Plays hell with my internal clock. Feels like an eternity sometimes. I'm trying to hold on, but… I can't… stand it… anymore."

He turned his head to the side and studied Spike, who was watching him with something that looked surprisingly close to sympathy. Whether the vampire was real, or her, or the first step down that slippery slope into madness, it didn't matter. It felt like someone was listening to him, and that was all that was important for now. "Can you understand, then, why I'm in no hurry to go back there? Why I might like to pretend for just a little bit longer that I could maybe be free?"

Spike stood and, looking down on the watcher, offered out his hand. "Come on, Rupert, let's go home. You have to take the chance sometime, and we both know you're not one to put off the inevitable."

"Inevitable," Giles echoed bleakly, but he accepted the hand and allowed Spike to pull him to his feet. "So how's this work? Back through the looking glass? Tap my heels together three times and there's no place like home?"

The vampire laughed and led him by the hand to the door of the crypt. "Nothing so grand as that. I did the spell to bring me here, now I reverse it to bring us out. I've never done this before, so… Might be wise to hold tight to Daddy's hand as we cross the street."

Giles rolled his eyes, but did as he was instructed. Spike moved to open the door, and Giles stopped short, a momentary jolt of panic surging through him and tightening his grip on the vampire's hand. Spike paused and squeezed back gently. "There's light at the other side of the darkness this time, Rupert. Promise."

_It was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us…_

Giles nodded for the other to go ahead. The door opened, and he was in darkness, as dark as it had ever been. But this time he could feel a cold hand in his, and he could hear Spike murmur something in an ancient tongue. His watcher's mind tried to translate and decipher the words. Aramaic perhaps, or Arabic. Whatever it was, Spike was slaughtering it horribly, and he hoped the spell wouldn't be affected. There was silence for a long time, and he was afraid that maybe none of this had worked after all. She had tricked him, or he had tricked himself, and no one was going to be coming to his rescue. Nothing left but half-remembered prose and poetry to keep him company.

_Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December; and each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor._

But he still felt Spike's hand in his, and if he listened hard enough he could hear his own pulse thrumming and his breath shaking through his chest and the myriad unique and quiet sounds of his own house: the radiator kicking on, the rattle of a loose shutter against the wind, the creak of a footfall on the second from top stair. And when he opened his eyes, he could see his own ceiling above him.

He rolled his head slowly to the side and saw Spike lying on the bed beside him, watching him, still holding fast to his hand. The vampire's voice was low and teasing.

"Hello, lover."

Giles chuckled and felt his chest shake with it. He swallowed and moved his lips tentatively before trying out his voice. "I'll gladly wake in bed with you, Spike, if it means waking at all." He brought their joined hands to rest against his heart. "You've set me free. I can't thank you enough."

"No, you can't."

He heard a girlish scream and felt the bed shake as Dawn jumped in to join them. "It worked! It worked! Omigod, you're both okay!" She was squealing in delight and hugging Spike fiercely. Giles released the vampire's hand so Spike could return the embrace and then turned his head so he wouldn't have to see it.

"Nice to see you too, Dawn," Giles muttered sarcastically. The words were barely out of his mouth before he felt her pounce on him too, knocking the wind out of him with elbows in tender places. She nestled her head beneath his chin, and he felt her begin to cry. "What's this?" he murmured.

"I missed you so much, Giles. We all did. And Buffy cries all the time. And everything's falling apart. And the twins are gone. And no one can read any of those books and Willow's in trouble and we didn't know if Faith set a trap, but she didn't, which was good, but we still don't know where the twins are and we didn't know if we'd ever get you back and I didn't wanna hafta find someone to kill you like Spike made me promise."

"Shhh… Breathe, Dawn. Slow down." His brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of her torrent of words. "Kill me? What?"

She lifted her head and looked down on him with tears still streaming down her cheeks. "You can fix it now, right? You can go to LA and help Buffy?"

"I'll do what I can, Dawn." He reached up to wipe away her tears and noticed for the first time the IV trailing into the back of his hand. He lifted his other hand and noticed a matching one taped to that one as well. "I appear to be stuck full of tubes."

"Yeah, liquid lunch," Dawn quipped as she climbed off him, sitting up now on the bed and drying her eyes, Spike sitting cross-legged behind her. "The nurse came at six, but I sent her away, 'cause you were in the middle of the spell. I can have her come back and unhook you now if you want."

"I don't think that will…" He trailed off as he started to sit up. He reconsidered her suggestion when he realized he had tubes going into other places as well. "On second thought, maybe that would be a good idea."

Dawn reached for the phone from the nightstand, and Giles fixed Spike with a level stare. "How long have I…?"

Spike shrugged, and it was Dawn who answered. "Eleven days."

He gasped. "Is that all? It felt like much longer." He closed his eyes as he absorbed that piece of information. "Eleven days? Hmmm… Sabrina would have lost her bet. I don't think I would have made it the full month even."

After exchanging a few brief words with the nurse, Dawn hung up the phone. She smiled, giddy now. "You want some tea, or… or anything?"

He reached across the bed for her hand, and she gave it. Such a small thing, holding her hand, that failed to express the full breadth of his emotion at that particular instant. To even be able to hold her hand felt like a miracle, something he had thought never to experience again. He swallowed back a surge of emotion. How could he tell this sweet young girl just exactly what she meant to him? How could he make any of them understand just how lost he had been without them? But more practical concerns had to take priority. There would hopefully be time later for heart-to-heart talks, for words that should have been spoken long ago. For now, he had to find his children, had to stand beside his slayer in her battle. "Tell me what's happened. Everything."

"Pretty much what Lil Bit said. Someone nabbed the kids. Faith called with a lead, and the rest of them went off to LA for a look-see. But the place was deserted when they got there. Oh, and that Travers bloke is missing."

"Dead," Giles corrected.

"Yeah, whatever. That's about all we got."

Giles closed his eyes in concentration. His head was still all muddled, and all of the stimuli surrounding him was taking its toll on his sensory deprived nerves. He took a few deep breaths, resisted the urge to curl his legs up against his chest, and focused on the information they had before them. "She has the sword, and she has Alex, and she's going to use Alex to activate the sword."

Spike got off the bed and started pacing. "The sword of Camela? So that thing _does_ have something to do with all of this?"

He nodded, his eyes still closed.

"If that's the plan, they'll do it tonight. Tonight's a crescent moon, and the books said that's when this Camela chick can strike down lightening on the last victim."

Giles opened his eyes and felt his heart beat faster. He turned towards the window. It was already past dark. He realized then that he couldn't wait for the nurse. "Dawn, load some weapons into the car. We'll be down in a minute. Spike, go in the closet and pull me out some pants and a sweater."

The vampire waited until Dawn had gone. "What you gonna do 'bout…" He gestured with his thumb to first the tubes and then to the IV stand in the corner.

Giles didn't answer, merely extended his hands in front of him and focused. His arms were trembling, and his heart was racing. Sabrina was right. He was afraid. For more than twenty-five years, he had mostly done little stuff and only when necessary. The spell with Robin had been the most difficult thing he had attempted in all that time. He had been thankful to have Willow and Tara do most of the magic for him. But now he would be required to do much more. He would be required to reach down into a part of himself he had buried with Randall.

Best to start small. Test the waters. He took a deep breath and called on the power he kept locked away. "Laxare."

The IV, the tubes, all of it vanished. It had worked.

Spike whistled. "All right. So that's what you're going to do 'bout it."

He eased his way to the edge of the bed, unused muscles protesting at the sudden exertion. "Spike, I might need your help." He blushed savagely, which only embarrassed him further. "Dressing, I mean."

But Spike kindly refrained from jests at his expense. The vampire said nothing as he helped the watcher into his clothes. He didn't even wait to be asked before putting his arm out for Giles to lean on, steadying the watcher with his other arm whenever he seemed ready to topple.

Giles smiled apologetically. "This walking thing will just take a little getting used to again."

"Sure thing, whereas I'm sure you'll take to the weaponry like a fish to water."

They made their way slowly down the stairs where Dawn was waiting for them. She gave him another crushing hug and informed him that Spike knew where Buffy and the others were headed. "I'm Mission Control, so call if there's any problems or you can't find them. I'll tell them you're coming."

He indicated to them the books on Camela and leaned against the doorjamb as they gathered them into the van beside the weapons. Giles couldn't help a pang of irritation when he noticed that Buffy had taken _his_ car. Spike went upstairs for another book, one that Giles didn't recognize immediately, but one he couldn't worry too much about at the moment.

While the vampire was upstairs, Dawn turned to him and asked hesitantly, "Giles, who did this to you? The spell, I mean."

"It doesn't matter now."

Spike had caught Dawn's question and Giles' dismissal as he came down the stairs, book in hand. Giles could sense Spike's scrutiny and, as soon as they'd had their hugs goodbye from Dawn and shut the door behind them, the vampire guessed what Giles had avoided saying.

"Willow, huh? She put the whammy on you?"

"Yes," he answered quietly, not lifting his eyes from the ground.

"I told Dawn the fallout was coming. Guess you got the brunt of it."

Giles waited while Spike opened the passenger door for him. There had been no need for discussion on who would be driving. "No, Spike, the fallout's still coming."

Giles put his hand on the door, but didn't actually climb in. It was almost like getting into a box, and he didn't know if he could do it. Spike was already sitting in the driver's seat, staring at him, while he was still standing there with his hand on the door.

"Sometime _before_ they do the blood sacrifice thing on your kid would be good."

That spurred him to action, and he finally climbed into the van, feeling his heart race and his hands tremble. His finger pressed the down button for the automatic window at the same time as he shut the door.

He could feel Spike's eyes on the back of his head, studying him. "My, my, someone's picked up a wee bit of claustrophobia, haven't they?"

Giles clenched his teeth and ground out, "Shut up and drive." He leaned his head against the doorframe, feeling the breeze across his face as they started for LA.

"So when we get there, your plan is to curl up into a fetal ball and wish them dead, is it?"

"Just get us to LA, and then we can worry about the plan." Giles pressed one hand over his eyes, and tried to think over the cacophony of sound and feel and movement. He tried to think through everything he knew about Camela and the sword and Sabrina and… and… It was all blurring together. His mind was drifting again. He tried to rein it in.

_Camela stood alone against the Numidian army, and with one word, she felled them where they stood. Came riding the Chosen champion to defeat her. And he rode with a jewelled twinkle, his pistol butt a-twinkle, his rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky._

Giles found himself pulling his legs up onto the seat and his knees into his chest. It was all so overwhelming and too much to take in, being out of the darkness. But for Alex, he had to get past it.

* * *

Joseph buttoned up the coat around his little slayer. It would be cold by the water. His fingers brushed across her skin as he did up the top button, and she trembled. He smiled at her fear.

"Let's go, boys."

He carried Robin out of the warehouse, a large contingent of vampires following behind him. Sabrina thought it was time to stand on his own two feet, to leave his father's shadow and forget about Wolfram and Hart. Maybe she was right. Maybe he would show her a thing or two about what exactly Joseph Zalk could accomplish on his own.

Joseph looked up at the night sky. The crescent moon was rising.

* * *

Sabrina had searched for so long, had schemed and manipulated more people than she could count, all to bring her to this moment. She would have her vengeance, and she would have her power, and she would have the sun and the stars and the moon too if she wanted them. Her hands clutched the hilt of the sword tighter. In blood and fire, in wind and rain, she would have what was _hers_.

Sabrina looked up at the night sky. The crescent moon was rising.

* * *

Morgaine stood beside Sabrina. Her doubts were fading with the tide. The boy would be the last, as Sabrina had promised, and his death would prove her faith justified. For more years than she could count, she had been the right hand, the shadow, and the rock. She could not remember the girl she had been, the girl who had been left on the mountaintop for the Beast. She had been the sacrifice, but now it would be her salvation.

Morgaine looked up at the night sky. The crescent moon was rising.

* * *

Buffy stood at the edge of the forest, Xander and Faith beside her. They had walked the perimeter, looking for weaknesses, but found the invisible barrier unbreakable. Beyond the forest, her son waited on the beach, waited for his mother to save him. But even slayers had limits. She was barred the way by magic. And without magic, she could go no farther.

Buffy looked up at the night sky. The crescent moon was rising.

* * *

Willow stood at the edge of the cliff, her hand clasped in the hand of the woman beside her. The joining symbol warmed her stomach and tingled down between her thighs. She could not see the ritual clearly at this distance, not while she was focusing on the others forming the circle, focusing on weaving the beginning matrix of their spell. It didn't matter. She trusted Sabrina, and tonight Sabrina would act as the center: she would guide their power, and Willow would give herself willingly, as would the others. They were a team, a family, a sisterhood. One for all and all for one. And when the spell was finished, the Watcher's Council would never be able to hurt them again. They would be safe.

Willow turned her face up to the starlit sky above her. The crescent moon was rising.

* * *

Giles had stilled his panic by the last half of the journey. He sat in his seat properly, poring through the books they'd brought, looking for weaknesses, for ways to stop the ritual. He knew he couldn't defeat Sabrina with magic. She could anticipate his every attack. Buffy wouldn't be able to score a hit either. But to save his son, he had to find a way. That was when he noticed the book Spike had brought. Curious and unfamiliar with the volume, he opened it. The breeze ruffled the pages, and he looked out the car window.

The crescent moon was rising, rising, rising, the crescent moon was rising into the jewelled sky.

* * *

The Mortog beast felt it coming. Three thousand years of searching at an end. A vow made would soon be honored. Vengeance would be sated, and the Sorceress would rest at last. No one else knew what was coming, what the ritual would bring, not the power hungry witches or the troubled runaways or the innocent sacrifice. Only the Beast knew.

Above, the crescent moon was rising. Camela would answer the call.

* * *

Next: Part 10: The Last Watcher

A challenge for my readers:  
The next chapter will have the disclaimer with all the lit references from this part. Anyone think they can name all the books/poems Giles was quoting? Maybe you'll win something if you get it right. Or maybe you won't. Maybe it will just be the satisfaction you'll get from knowing your English classes weren't for naught.

So... Did you get them right? Read on to find out...


	10. The Last Watcher

ORIGINALLY POSTED: February 23, 2002  
TITLE: The Family Business  
AUTHOR: JK Philips  
RATING: PG-13 (swearing)  
SUMMARY: After the events of The Ticking Clock, Buffy and Giles are still looking for their  
daughter. Can they save her from a terrible fate?  
SPOILERS: Everything up to "The Gift"  
DISCLAIMER: I do not own these characters; they are the property of Joss Whedon,  
Mutant Enemy & Fox. I simply am doing this for fun, and non-profit use.  
SECOND DISCLAIMER: Lit soup from the last part: Jonathan Livingston Seagull by Richard Bach; The Highwayman by Alfred Noyes; The Jabberwocky by Lewis Carroll; Poems by Catullus; The Raven by Edgar Allen Poe; Midsummer Night's Dream, Romeo and Juliet, and Hamlet by Shakespeare; Les Miserables by Victor Hugo; A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens; and a passing reference to Do Not Go Gentle into that Good Night by Dylan Thomas. And there you have a little peek into my psyche.

* * *

Part 10: The Last Watcher

The music was pounding. The volume couldn't have been that loud and yet it seemed like the bass was vibrating through his chest. Spike was drumming on the steering wheel, bobbing his head in time to the music, and occasionally singing a line or two before returning to his drum solo on the steering column and dash. Giles had no idea the song or group, but he was fairly certain Buffy would have enjoyed exercising to it.

Finally he could take no more and snapped, "Must we listen to that infernal noise?"

Spike looked at him sideways and rolled his eyes, but thankfully turned the stereo off. "Better, Grandpa?"

"Much," Giles answered, not rising to the bait. He rubbed at the bridge of his nose and adjusted his glasses before continuing with his perusal of the unfamiliar book Spike had brought. "You say this was in our house?" he asked again, still amazed that such a powerful volume could have escaped his notice.

"It was in the attic with Tara's stuff." Spike shook his head. "Did you even go through any of it 'fore you packed it away? 'Cause, honestly, I found a whole lotta crap in most of those boxes. Really think anyone'd be needin' all those back issues of _Cat Fancy_? And you might as well have given all those clothes to Goodwill. That's probably where she got 'em from anyway."

Giles glared. "We were leaving it to Willow to decide what to keep and what not to. We were waiting until her grief had passed enough for her to think clearly."

Spike barked out a laugh. "Looks like you would have been waiting a long time."

Giles ran his fingers along the perfect ink penmanship on the pages before him and murmured, "She's not a lost cause yet."

"After the mess she made of you, you really gonna forgive and forget?"

Giles didn't lift his eyes from the book, but he spoke clearly and without hesitation. "Not forget, no. As for forgiveness… Should it surprise you so much?" He did raise his eyes then, but the vampire was focused on the road in front of him. "How much have we forgiven you? Your past, your attempts on Buffy's life, as well as Willow and Xander's, not to mention your betrayal of us to Adam. After all that, how many nights have you spent in our home as if we were friends?"

"_As if_," Spike echoed, his voice bitter now, devoid of humor. He glanced at the watcher, true anger glittering in his eyes. "That's just it, isn't? You'll forgive me enough to send on patrol and run your errands and save your hides and be your little whipping boy, but you'll never let me in." Both hands gripped the steering wheel now, and his eyes returned to the road. "I'll never be part of the gang, be a friend, be anything but a convenient necessity. And I'll damn sure never be forgiven enough to be considered anything more than Dawn's big mistake. No matter that I love her, that I'd die for her. Oh, but you'll take Willow back fast enough, no matter that she left you to rot inside your own skin, no matter that she's likely cost you both your children. She'll weep and show remorse, and Red'll be back on Scooby duty before you can say 'Oprah's reunion special.' "

There was a long silence, and Giles continued to stare at the book in his hands, but he wasn't focused on the words. Finally he spoke. "And have _you_ shown remorse, Spike? Have you for even one second regretted any of the evil you've done?"

"No."

"Then there's your answer. There's the limit to our forgiveness, why you'll never be one of us."

Spike turned the steering wheel sharply, slowed down, and pulled the van to a stop on the shoulder of the road. Giles looked up in surprise, but before he could demand an explanation, Spike was twisting in his seat to face him.

"Look here. What's done is done. All the whining in the world ain't gonna change anything. Angel may go for all that atonement crap, but if I had it all to do over again, I'd do it exactly the same. It's made me who I am today, and so I wouldn't trade any of it.

"And what did all that sulking get Angel? All those years with a soul, and he didn't do diddly but hang out in the sewers eatin' rats, moaning 'bout all the wrong he did. Took seeing your slayer to make him actually _do_ anything about it."

Spike leaned closer, his hand on the middle console and a dangerous glint in his eye, and Giles shrank back against the doorframe. "Let me tell you one more difference between me and old Angelus. Sure, I killed. I fed. I enjoyed it. Hell, I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss it. But the kill was always clean, quick." He licked his lips and seemed to reconsider. "Maybe not always. The railroad spikes… well, sometimes critics have got to be put in their places. But my point is this: I never tortured anyone. I never got off on the suffering like Angelus and Darla and even Dru. If I'd been the one trying to wake Acathla…" His voice lowered to a whisper. "I would have just turned you. 'Cause, really, what was the point of puttin' you through all that?"

Giles swallowed, but didn't answer.

Spike pulled back slightly, a shadow of a smirk on his face. "What's the point of regrets or of wishing things different? Not if it would turn me into a slayer-whipped pansy arsed Angel-clone. No thank you. I'd rather keep all my kills than chance that. I don't regret anything. Not even gettin' chipped."

Giles' eyebrows rose at that, and Spike smiled wider.

"Yeah, that's a surprise, huh? I'm a better man today as a vampire than I ever was as a human because of it. And there's Dawn. Without the chip, I would have never even known what I was missing." Spike's eyes hardened. "So ask me."

Giles shook his head. "Ask you what?"

"No one cares 'bout what I did before. None of you would have anything to do with me if you did. 'Sides…" His eyes stripped the watcher bare. "I'm not the only one with blood on his hands."

Giles dropped his gaze to his lap, the red-hot flush of shame burning his cheeks.

"There's only one thing any of you care about. So be man enough to ask me already."

Giles looked up again and met the vampire's stare steadily. "If something happened to your chip… If tomorrow you found yourself suddenly able to kill again, what would you do, Spike?"

"The same thing I'm doing today, same thing I did yesterday." Spike turned in his seat, facing front again, and pulled the minivan back onto the road heading towards LA. "Go ahead, ask me why."

"Why?"

"I have a place, like I never did before. Dru loved me, you know. And I loved her. Always been a bit in love with love, wrote these God awful poems about it, pined after women who wouldn't give me the time of day, but I never really knew what it was to be loved, unconditionally. Not even Dru did that. Left me 'cause I wasn't dark enough for her. If something happened to me, Dawn would cry for me, same tears she'd cry for you. Never had anyone love me enough to cry for me."

Giles looked back out the window, the breeze blowing across his face. "So you wouldn't kill again if you had the chance? Because Dawn would never forgive you if you did?"

Spike chuckled darkly. "You just don't get it, do you, mate? Dawn _would_ forgive me, that's just it. It'd break her heart to do it, but she'd forgive me anything, 'cause she loves me _that_ much. I think if I ever went back to my old ways, she'd bare her neck for me and let me turn her. That's what scares you. Scares me, too. But I'd never let that happen to her, never put her through that. It's not worth hurting her. So no, while I may get a bit nostalgic for a good killing spree, I'll never actually do any killing again."

Giles nodded thoughtfully, unsure whether to believe Spike or not. He seemed sincere enough, but they would never know for sure unless, heaven forbid, his chip actually did malfunction.

Spike gave him a sideways glance. "Though I might make an exception in your case, if you ever manage to piss me off enough."

"I'll try to keep that in mind," Giles replied sardonically.

And then, as if to signal that the topic was officially closed, Spike resumed their earlier conversation about the book in the watcher's lap, asking about its usefulness.

"It's a family spellbook," Giles answered, leaving his concerns about Dawn and Spike for another time. "An assortment of spells passed down and added to over generations." He shook his head in disbelief. "Her mother must have been quite powerful. Some of these spells… Some of these are certainly beyond anything that's ever passed through my hands. I can't believe Tara never mentioned this before. I can't believe we didn't notice it when we packed her things away."

"It was wrapped in an old quilt. Anything useful in there?"

"Possibly."

Spike shrugged and studied the road intently. "So what's the plan? How we gonna stop this witch bitch from activating the sword?"

"We're not. We're not going to stop her; we're going to help her finish the ceremony."

That brought the vampire up short. "Is this some sorta thrall thing? 'Cause I may not be able to hit you, but I can get someone else to."

Giles laughed. "No, just trust me. We have to make sure she finishes the ritual, just not with my son."

"Doesn't this sword give her a whole lotta power?"

Giles took his glasses off and pinched the bridge of his nose in concentration. Every time an oncoming car's headlights crossed his vision, he thought he would go blind from the unaccustomed brightness. How strange that a part of him wanted nothing more than to retreat back into the hated darkness. He sighed and replaced his glasses, his mind already forgetting Spike's question. "I'm sorry, what?"

Spike repeated himself slowly. "The sword. Power. We help her. She gets power. Right?"

"I've been giving that a lot of thought. In all of these books," he motioned to the scattered volumes on the passenger floor and on the backseat, "we hear about the activation of the sword, the illustration of the lightning bolt and the 280 dead, but nothing afterwards. If the bearer truly gained all that power, what did they do with it, and how did they lose the sword to the next person?"

"S'pose with that kinda power, you could do some real damage, kinda damage people might write about."

"Precisely. But none of these books mention what the sword was used for after, just tale after tale of its theft and the murders done to unlock its power. And not a single mention of the previous owner being killed to obtain the sword."

"Which means…?"

"Which means, I think, that they were already dead. I keep rereading the account of its creation, and I believe the sorceress Camela is the only one who can wield this power."

"She's dead, right?"

Giles tilted his head in half-hearted acknowledgment. "Not quite. She gave her magic to the Mortog beast. Everything she could do, the Beast can now do. So the Beast is the only one who can wield the power of Camela's sword. Anyone else who tries… the power is too much for them. It destroys them.

"Sabrina is the one with the sword this time. She…" He closed his eyes against the memories. "She came to me while I was trapped. I think I know her a little. She's too powerful by herself. She can read minds somewhat, enough to anticipate any offensive moves you might make against her, magic or otherwise. I think our only chance is to let her activate the sword, to let the sword's power destroy her for us."

Spike nodded in approval. "Sounds like a plan. Means someone else'll have to play blood sacrifice in your boy's place."

"I had considered that."

"See, Rupe? We're not so different you and I: both killers when we need to be."

Giles focused on the book in his lap once more, unable to argue with Spike's conclusion.

* * *

It took everything Buffy had in her not to bolt from their hiding place. Xander's hand on her arm kept her still and quiet. There had to be more than thirty vampires grouped in the clearing, far more than even two slayers and one determined young man could take. They had arrived in a motorcade of limos like they were arriving at the Golden Globes. She and Faith and Xander had ducked into the bushes to watch and wait.

Faith didn't seem to like the waiting any better than she did. The dark slayer was white knuckling her crossbow in the same way Buffy was gripping her sword. Too bad crossbows didn't fire like machine guns; they could have dusted all of them before even one could reach their hiding place. But there was a reloading factor, which meant that they needed to wait for the crowd to thin.

Two vampires were standing at the forefront of the group, waving something at the invisible barrier and chanting. Apparently they were successful in opening a door, hopefully a door she could follow them through.

_At least the party crashers are good for something._

They started to file through in pairs. Xander's hand on her arm tensed, warning her not to rush them too early. Still, her body trembled, every muscle taut as a bowstring, ready to fly at the first opportunity, needing to reach her son before anything could happen to him.

But there was a sight she wasn't prepared for, and even Xander's soothing presence couldn't curtail her instinctive reaction after she had seen it. She caught a glimpse as the crowd parted slightly, as they jostled for positions to make their way through the barrier's narrow doorway.

Robin.

Her daughter held in the arms of one of these demons. Creamy bare legs dangled off the man's hip. Golden curls obscured the face that was pressed against his shoulder. Her daughter.

The others might not have seen her. Buffy caught only a glimpse before the gap closed back up again. But Xander glanced at her when he felt the jolt of shock that nearly let loose the bowstring tension through her body into action. Even so, she held herself in check. Just barely.

She managed to wait until there were only five or six still on this side of the barrier. Then she came charging out of her hiding space, trusting Faith's crossbow and her own sword to finish them off before they could finish her off. She beheaded two before she realized the others were dust too. Faith was quick on the reload. Then she ran through the narrow doorway, not waiting for Faith and Xander to catch up.

She swung her sword once, twice, three times and dusted the three that had turned back in the clearing to take care of her. Maternal instincts mixed with slayer ones made her a force to be reckoned with. She started into the forest quietly, ducking behind a tree and observing the remaining vampires just ahead of her. Nine down, only twenty or so left to go. Easy as pie. Lucky for her, the battle had been silent and quick. The vampires she was tailing seemed unaware of her presence.

The one closest to her stopped, turned around, and studied the break in the forest just behind him. A puzzled frown creased his already wrinkled brow, and he motioned to another comrade. "Hey, Frank, what happened to Nick and Carlo?"

Frank shrugged. "Who cares? Move faster. We ain't where the Boss wants us when he wants us, he'll fit us both in an ashtray."

They continued on, and Buffy breathed a sigh of relief. She still had the element of surprise on her side. She turned around, her eyes searching for Xander and Faith. She even backtracked a few steps to get a better view of the clearing she had just left behind.

Apparently they hadn't been as quick as she had. Either that or Buffy had made it through in the nick of time. The sad fact was that the door through the barrier had closed before Faith and Xander could pass through. Buffy would have to go it alone.

* * *

Joseph walked onto the beach as if he owned it. Just him and his little slayer in his arms. Sabrina was the only one he recognized, the only one he had ever dealt with, and she was near the water's edge beside a young black woman. Sabrina's eyes widened when she saw him, and Joseph took some amount of selfish satisfaction in her surprise.

"Hello, Sabrina," he called out, invading their sacred circle as he strolled past the three nearest the forest. He noticed the little boy standing in the middle of their sand drawn symbol and apparently so did his little slayer. She began whimpering and growing restless in his arms. He tightened his grip on the girl, threatening her with a low growl, after which she quieted obediently.

"Joseph," Sabrina hissed. "What are you doing here?"

"What I should have done from the beginning." He set the girl down as he reached the sorceress. The child didn't move from his side. "You were right, Sabrina. I don't need Wolfram and Hart or my father or, for that matter, a partner. I'm ready to run the show myself, see what I can do with my own vision."

Her eyes narrowed in anger, but he remained unflappable. "If you want that vision to include tomorrow," she warned, "then I suggest you leave."

"You hired me for a reason, don't forget." He snapped his fingers in the air: a signal to the men who were waiting for him. A dozen or more vampires stepped out from the forest and onto the beach. Joseph smiled smugly. "Superior manpower."

* * *

Xander kicked a rock and eyed Faith warily. "So now what?"

She was running her hands over the spot where the door had been and meeting only the invisible resistance of the barrier. She looked like a mime. "We tried over. We tried under. Around didn't work either. Tried bashing it, and all I can say is 'oww.' I'm thinking…" She sighed and faced him. "Actually, that's pretty much all I can think of."

Xander was thinking of the wrecking ball he had knocked Glory over with and wondering if that would knock a hole in it. He sighed too. "Yeah, I think we pretty much need Willow, a good-on-our-side-Willow, or-"

"Giles!" Faith finished brightly.

"Yeah, Giles could maybe…" He trailed off as she nodded towards the road behind him. He turned and saw Spike and Giles making their way towards them, the watcher holding onto Spike's shoulder for balance. "Oooh, Gi-iles," Xander said, understanding now. "This is definitely of the good."

And then, in spite of all the bad stuff that was still going on around them, he couldn't help but give in to the goofy grin that twitched on his lips. Giles was okay. Maybe a little wobbly on his feet, but he was okay.

"Definitely of the good," Xander repeated before bounding off to meet his friend halfway.

* * *

"You don't want to do this, Joseph," Sabrina insisted. "You forget that I could cut you down with a thought."

"Not quite," Joseph laughed. "Although, you'd like to think so."

"Try me."

"Let me just spell it out for you, Sabrina: you're outnumbered. Even with just the men you can see. Add in the ones you can't, and you don't stand a chance. Doesn't matter what you can see in my mind or theirs; won't help you defend yourself against that many opponents."

"Walk. Away," she ground out between clenched teeth.

"Perhaps you need a demonstration?"

He snapped his fingers again, and she heard a scream. She felt the stab of pain through the joining spell and turned in time to see one of her coven fall from the cliffs above, a crossbow bolt driven straight through her heart.

"One down, eight to go," he told her coldly. "How many do you absolutely _have_ to have for the ritual to work?"

"What do you want?" Sabrina glanced up at the rising crescent moon, hoping that whatever Joseph came for, he could make it quick. She didn't have time for negotiating. But neither did she have time to fight with him and his associates.

He smiled, and she met his eyes, shock clearly written across her face. He knew he didn't have to say it. He knew she had just seen it in his mind. She had seen in his thoughts what he had come for. He hadn't come to bully her into becoming his partner, into using the stolen power of the watchers to find the potential slayers for him. He had come to claim the power for his own.

He had come for the sword.

* * *

Willow saw the men step onto the beach below her. She counted them. Seven. Ten. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. And they were only nine. She couldn't make out specifics at this distance, even though her concentration on the spell matrix had just been broken. The man closest to Sabrina was carrying something and set it down, but she couldn't get a clear look.

Julia was at her side, her hands shaking. "Watcher's Council?" she asked tremulously.

Willow nodded. "That'd be my guess."

Then she heard a scream, carried across on the cool night air. Helpless to stop it, she watched one of their own tumble from the opposite cliff. Falling. Falling. _Buffy fell._ Then, she had been too magicked out to stop it. Now, she simply didn't react fast enough. The woman had hit the ground before Willow could call up the spell.

"No!" Willow's cry of anguish choked in the back of her throat. It had been either Melody or Delilah. She couldn't tell from here, but it didn't matter which; they were both her friends. Separated from her now by the distance of beach and the height of the cliffs she stood upon, just as a battlefield and a rise of rocks had separated her from Tara. She blinked away the memory of stumbling down that rock bed, of racing across the crevice, of the scrapes and cuts on her hands as she desperately tried to climb to her lover before it was too late. _Too late. Too late._ Too late to save Tara. Too late to save her friend now. She could have saved her if she'd been faster. Giles could have saved _her_ if he'd wanted.

Julia had dropped to her knees, her hand covering her mouth. "Oh God, oh God, oh God," she was murmuring. "What do we do?"

Willow wished she could panic too. Wished she could cry and fall apart. Wished she could go back and be just a little bit faster this time. Wished, for once, that she didn't have to play hero, that she didn't have anyone depending on her help.

But if wishes were horses… and all those years of Scooby duty had taught her how to push her feelings back long enough to get the job done. She took a deep breath, unshed tears still blurring her vision, and turned to Julia. "Climb down. Go back to the shelter. Get help. As many as will come."

* * *

Alex watched the lady and the man argue.

When they had first brought him to the beach, they had made him stand in just this spot and drew something around him in the sand. The other woman had wanted to do something more to keep him there, but the lady had said no. She had said that he wouldn't go anywhere, that something terrible would happen to him if he tried. She had been looking right at him when she'd said it, and he'd been very scared.

But there were bits and pieces of this he remembered from his dream. He remembered standing in the sand, his shoes sinking slightly every time he fidgeted in place. He remembered how cold it was with the breeze off the ocean, and how he felt the wet mist on his skin as each wave crashed just behind the lady and her friend. He remembered the bad dog, the monster that had come, and so he was afraid to run, afraid the monster would find him if he did. At the same time, he remembered that he _had_ run, had taken Robin and run and run and run until his little legs were so tired, he just wanted to fall on the ground where he was.

So when he saw the man bring Robin, he knew he would need to go soon, that something worse would happen if he stayed.

He watched someone fall from a cliff, screaming. It looked like something out of a movie, like something out of one of those shoot-em-up movies that Uncle Xander always got in trouble for letting him watch. She fell faster than they did in the movies. No slow motion. No rising music. It was very quick, and he had never actually seen anyone die before.

Alex knew his mother had fallen once, long before he was born. It was one of those things he wasn't supposed to know about, one of those things people started to talk about before remembering he was there. He'd always imagined that his father had caught her. Now, watching this woman fall, he wasn't so sure. Maybe his father hadn't caught her. Maybe his mother had gotten hurt when she fell. Maybe that's why his father always looked so sad whenever anyone mentioned it.

But his mother had gotten better, and maybe this woman was only hurt and would get better too.

The lady seemed pretty sure that the woman was dead, though. She was yelling at the man for it. She was yelling at him about the sword she was holding, too. Alex didn't understand. Mommy and Daddy had lots of swords. They never cared who used what sword. They only yelled whenever he managed to get his hands on one.

And then everyone started fighting. The lady's friend said something, a magic word, like "open sesame" or something, except that it didn't open any doors. It made three of the bad men fall down, holding their heads in pain. That made the others mad, and they started fighting.

And no one was watching Alex anymore, or Robin either.

He tiptoed over to her quietly and took her hand. She didn't seem to want to go at first. She kept looking at the man who had brought her. But he tugged a few times, and she finally allowed him to pull her away from the beach.

They were small, and therefore below most everyone's field of vision. No one noticed them as they crept past pairs of people fighting. No one noticed until they were nearly to the forest. And then someone called out, "Hey!" and pointed in their direction.

Alex pulled on his sister's hand harder, and they were both running into the underbrush, running as fast as they could, and it was just like his dream. They were being chased, and they were running. He couldn't remember much more of his dream than that. Except that he always woke when he saw the bad dog. He always woke knowing that the bad dog was looking for them, that it was hunting them, and he never knew how his dream ended. He never knew if it actually caught them.

* * *

Buffy didn't dare step into the clearing. She didn't know how many vamps were watching, unseen. They had killed the woman on the cliff with a crossbow. If Buffy stepped into the open, she would be kabobbed in a second. So instead, she focused on moving through the trees, sneaking up on each hidden vampire, and kabobbing them first.

She could barely see her twins, whenever she neared the edge of the forest enough to actually see the beach. She wanted to call to them, wanted to swoop in and rescue them. But first she would have to eliminate every last sniper.

She wished Faith were here. And there was a thought she had never expected to have again.

Silent as a ghost. Spreading her slayer senses out. Searching for the next target. And then gliding in from behind, careful with each step, not to break a twig or crunch a leaf or kick the smallest pebble, not a single sound to give away the game. Light on her feet, like a dance, and quick like lightning. A rain of dust and ash before he even knew she was there.

She looked out on the beach again, as she did every time she was close enough to see it. The witches and vampires were fighting each other now, but her eyes cared only to find her children, to assure herself that they were fine. Her heart caught in her throat when she realized that they were no longer there.

* * *

Giles sat on his knees in the grass, the book in his lap, poring through pages, through his memory, searching for something that would get them through this barrier. He was aware that he was rocking slightly as he did, but it seemed necessary to keep him focused. It seemed to provide comfort and a steady sensation that could almost drown out everything else and allow him to think. He was also aware that the others were watching him, were talking about him softly like he couldn't hear. But he could hear them. He could hear everything, feel everything, smell the grass and the damp night air, feel the dull ache through the bones Angelus had snapped and the leg Sulla's bullet had shattered, hear the steady roar of the ocean waves and the occasional rumble of a car passing on the road behind them. It was hard to concentrate, to push everything else out while the whole world was trying to push in. He had taken for granted how easy it was to tune out the myriad insignificant details of surroundings and self, to focus on one thing to the exclusion of all else. It was a skill he would need to relearn, and fast.

"He going to be okay?" he heard Xander whisper to Spike. His eyes returned to the beginning of the page, and he tried to force himself to pay attention to the words in front of him and nothing else.

"Sure." Spike sounded doubtful. "Even if he ain't... Well, he's not as bad off as Dru, and she could still get the job done. Maybe you have to have a few screws loose to be any good at the magic. I mean, look at Red: trading in her grip on reality sure bought her into the bad-ass mojo crowd."

"Just so he doesn't turn us into rats or anything," Faith muttered.

Giles turned and glared. "Your distracting conversation is making that ever more likely."

They jumped when he spoke and quickly shut up. Blessed silence. Well almost. But the sounds of the night around them could not be so easily cowed into silence, and he would just need to ignore them. Rocking helped, as did moving his lips while he read, as a child who is first learning might sound out the words.

He heard a branch snap, and his head snapped up with it. He heard another, then the crunch of leaves, coming from the forest just beyond the barrier.

The others heard too and were coming to stand beside him. Faith wondered the same thing he did. "Buffy?"

But Spike nixed that idea. "Too noisy for the Slayer. Probably a deer or something."

But he was wrong too. Stumbling into their sight in the distance beyond the barrier, where the underbrush thinned into the clearing they all sat in, Alex and Robin came running. The children caught sight of their father, and they picked up speed, their faces filled with a desperate fear.

Giles tried to warn them back, but it was Robin who hit the invisible wall first, and she fell flat on her butt, rubbing her nose and crying. It would have almost been comical if the situation weren't so tragic. Alex saw her knocked back and stopped himself just in time.

Giles smiled reassuringly for them, and pressed his hand against the barrier. His son mirrored him on the other side, his chin trembling as tears slipped down his small cheeks. Giles wanted nothing more than to hold the boy in his arms and never let go, but the best he could do was rest his forehead against the invisible wall as his child did the same. Robin stood beside her brother now, too, pounding her fists on the barrier and crying. Giles laid his other hand against where her cheek pressed, trying to calm her with soft words, wishing he could touch her cheeks and wipe away her tears.

"Giles," she whispered plaintively.

He smiled, the tears stinging his eyes. She had spoken. She had spoken his name.

"Giles," Spike echoed, but it was a warning.

He looked over his children's heads and saw the vampires step into the clearing. He looked back down into his son's eyes. Robin was too upset to listen, but Alex had to be made to understand. Giles filled his eyes with unwavering authority, became the strict disciplinarian who had reached the count of three and now there would be no story before bedtime, no more arguments, no more chances. It was the same expression his father had worn before reaching for the strap, and Giles hated himself for looking at his own son in the same cold, unforgiving way he had sworn he never would, just as he had sworn never to repeat all of his father's other mistakes.

"Run," he told the boy firmly.

Time seemed to move more slowly. The vampires were only a few feet from the twins when Giles raised himself to his feet. Alex had grabbed his sister's hand, but she resisted leaving her father's side.

"Go, Robin!" he yelled, forcing his voice to anger as she had never heard it before. And then the dreaded word, the one that spurred all children to immediate action, stressed with the threat of what would come after that word if they didn't act. "_Now_!"

Alex pulled her, and they started moving to the side, even as the vampires were moving more quickly towards them.

"Back," Giles told the demons, uttered with the force of will, and anger, and power.

They flew back into a tangled heap, and the children disappeared into the forest off to the right. The vampires tried to regain their footing, but Giles was holding them in place, muttering the incantation under his breath, trying to buy his children time to escape.

He could feel his spell wavering. He was out of practice and old and used up and why did he ever think he could stand against Sabrina's power? He couldn't even hold three vampires in place.

The one closest to him sneered as he broke free of Giles' power. "Your boy's blood is going to be just the pick-me-up I need."

"Ha! I wish you luck in finding him," Giles snapped, raising his hands, calling out the words, his anger and fear fueling his magic. "Seeking dead three shall not find or see but shall blind be!"

The three vampires stumbled as they got to their feet, squinting at him, at their surroundings. They made their way unsteadily towards the forest the twins had escaped through, nearly colliding with each other and various trees before disappearing from sight.

Giles collapsed onto the ground, spent, unable to think of another spell to stop the vampires from following his children. He was no mage. Even Ethan would be better at this than him.

Xander approached him and offered a hand up, which he accepted. "What'd you do to them?"

Giles shrugged, not terribly impressed with himself at the moment. "It was supposed to make them blind, but…" He stared at the spot they had gone through. "But I think it just made them a little nearsighted."

"Yeah, whatever," Faith said, dismissing the whole scene. "We'll pick them up later at Lens Express. Let's work on getting us on _that_ side of the invisible wall."

"I'm doing the best I can," he snapped. "Do you have any helpful suggestions to offer?" He stalked over and snatched the book back up off the ground, nearly losing his balance from the furious movement. Spike, thankfully, caught his arm and prevented him from toppling over. But Giles wasn't as thankful as perhaps he should be. He was irritated and frustrated that he did need help now of all times, now when his children needed _him_. He was cursing himself and his body that wouldn't work just as he remembered it had, that couldn't just climb out of the darkness and his bed as if nothing had happened. He glared at Spike, although the vampire had done nothing to deserve his anger. But he was convenient and easy to be angry with. Spike released his arm, allowing him to stand on his own two feet, however unsteady they might be.

Faith seemed to have taken his harsh rebuke at face value; she was trying to think of suggestions. "Well those other vamps seemed to think it was easy enough. They waved something at it, chant, chant, and poof: magic door. Can't ya just figure out whatever spell they did and… I don't know… redo it?"

Giles froze, closed his eyes, and sighed. "Of course. I'm profoundly stupid. I don't need to find a new spell; I just need to redo what's already been done. Faith, I never thought I would be so grateful to have you at my side." He was reminded of that long ago war council before the battle with Glory, when Anya had similarly come through in a pinch after he had yelled at her for her incredibly uninfectious enthusiasm and sad lack of ideas.

Giles stepped closer to the barrier and dredged up the necessary redo spell from memory. As he concentrated on uttering the correct incantation, the others gathered behind him, weapons at the ready and all blessedly silent, considerate of his current limited capacity for concentration in the face of distraction.

The door opened, and they passed through the barrier.

"Faith, Spike, find Buffy and help her. I'll back you up as soon as I can. And Spike, remember what I told you about the sword." Giles headed in the direction his children had gone, still slightly unsteady on his feet, but strengthened by his desperate need to save his children. "Xander, help me find Robin and Alex before their pursuers do."

"Shoulda turned them into rats," Xander muttered as he followed.

Spike started laughing so hard everyone stopped to look at him. He returned their looks with an incredulous one of his own. "Come on! Don't tell me I'm the only one who gets it. Three blind mice?" No one else laughed, and he blew them off. "Oh bugger, go find your tots while we rescue the Missus."

* * *

"Hey!" One of Joseph's minions shouted, pointing towards the fleeing children.

Joseph and Sabrina paused in their shouting match, and the other pairs stopped their fighting long enough to look as well.

Whatever else might have forced them into the roles of adversaries, in this they were on the same side: they both needed those children. For Joseph, he was watching his hopes for his own slayer disappear with Robin's retreating back. For Sabrina, she needed Alex as her sacrifice, and her window of opportunity was rapidly closing. What the others thought as they saw the running children didn't matter. The others were Joseph and Sabrina's to command.

They looked at each other, and the vampire offered diplomatically, "Truce?"

The witch nodded her acceptance.

"Halt!" Joseph called out, and each vampire on the beach took a few wary steps back from their opponents.

_Stop._ Sabrina ordered through the joining spell, and her coven backed off.

"We find the twins as a team," she told him, "and I will have the sword, and you will have me as an ally."

She could feel his indecision. Joseph did not truly want to be in charge. His years at Wolfram and Hart had done that to him. While he might enjoy being boss of his own division, while he might have truly enjoyed being a full partner of the firm, there had always been someone to answer to. Even Holland Manners had had to answer to the enigmatic senior partners. And so while Joseph could play the cutthroat game of competition and backstabbing as well as any other lawyer still with the firm, he didn't know quite what to do with himself without a boss of his own. And Sabrina would be all too happy to assume that role for the time being.

On the other hand, he didn't trust her. And rightfully so. Because if he could see inside her mind as she could see inside his, he would know that as soon as she gained the power of the sword, she intended to strike him down with it for his insolence.

He studied her, and she knew he hadn't quite decided whether to align himself with her or make a play for the sword himself. For now that would have to be enough. Later, she would see that he made the right decision. She might not be able to use her gifts to influence a vampire as she could a mortal, but all of the self-doubt and insecurity she saw inside him, all of his father's cutting remarks and his colleagues' mocking jibes that still echoed in his mind, all of that had to be good for something. After all, she only needed to buy herself enough time to claim the sword and its power.

"We'll find the twins, and then we'll discuss it," he finally answered her.

They split up into groups of three, all vampire or all witch, none of them trusting the other enough to mix. They set off into the forest, and Sabrina looked up to each cliff on either side of her. Delilah was starting to climb down. And on the other side, Julia was almost to the bottom. More distressing was the fact that Willow seemed on her way down as well.

That would never work. As long as Willow remained at a distance, she would remain ignorant of the true nature of this ritual. But one glimpse of Alex, and she would know. Despite Sabrina's masterful manipulations of Willow's own weaknesses and desires, she could never hold her after that.

She felt Morgaine's eyes on her and met her friend's knowing stare. It was almost as if her friend could read _her_ mind, could see in her thoughts what she would never admit out loud: that in this final moment, her control was only a tenuous illusion.

"Go," she snapped at Morgaine, angry with her for being right, for the "I-told-you-so" she could see burning in her eyes. "Find them."

And Morgaine obeyed, wisely keeping her tongue, letting Sabrina's self-recriminations be enough.

* * *

Willow started to climb down the rock face, intending to help where she could, afraid that her magic could hurt the wrong person if she tried from here. She might currently have the best vantage point, might be able to see the entire battlefield, but she couldn't see enough detail to discern friend from foe. Her friend on the opposite cliff seemed to have the same idea as she. Melody or Delilah, she couldn't be sure which was left, was carefully scaling down her own precipice to the beach.

Willow had only taken a few steps down the steep but doable path along the side leading into the forest. She was no mountain climber to try scaling down the sheer rock face along the beach. Even so, the path towards the forest was treacherous, much scarier on the way down than it had been on the way up. She started down in a crawl, her hands seeking purchase and anchoring her in place before her feet stretched for the next step. She'd only taken a few such careful steps when she heard Sabrina's voice in her head, carried to her by magic.

_Willow, no._

_But you need help_, she answered. _I've sent Julia to the shelter to get backup, but you need help now_.

_Delilah is coming._

So Melody was the one who died, Willow thought, not questioning how Sabrina knew. Sabrina always knew. Her power was awesome, was what Willow aspired to. If Sabrina were standing in Willow's place, the height of the cliff would not limit her ability to protect them all.

_Let me help._

She felt Sabrina's desperation, an echo of her own. _No! I need you there._ Willow wanted to argue, but Sabrina continued on, not giving her a chance. _I need someone at that vantage point, someone to be my eyes over the whole beach if I need it. Melody is dead, and Delilah and Julia are coming down here. You're the last. I need you to stay up there._

_But I can't see anything from here. I'm no use to you._

_If I need you, my magic will let you see. Please, Willow, be patient._

Willow sighed and resumed her post, standing sentinel on her precipice and watching over the now nearly empty beach. She hoped Julia would bring reinforcements soon.

* * *

Giles kept a pace that even Xander had difficulty matching. His long legs were an asset in that regard, as was the panic that gripped his heart whenever he thought of the vampires reaching his children first. That thought urged him on, even though his body was rapidly tiring and his legs were beginning to ache. He stumbled more readily than he used to, losing his balance over slightly uneven ground or when stepping over fallen branches. Usually Xander caught him, but sometimes the young man was a few too many paces behind him and could only offer him a hand up after the fact.

They reached the edge of the forest and stopped for a moment to look out over the beach. The sand opened up to the water far off to their left, but directly in front of them the sand quickly turned to rock that rose straight up towards the sky.

"Now which way?" Xander asked.

But Giles was studying the cliffs in front of him, his eyes tracing their slopes upward. He was thinking of his son's myriad close calls: jumps off the second story railing at the Magic Box that had necessitated him adding a gate, various time-outs for being caught scaling the bookcases Xander had had the foresight to bracket firmly to the wall before the child was even born, an endless parade of jumps off the couch until something was inevitably broken, and fresh in his mind, the memory of Alex's daring climb up the school bleachers during Dawn's play.

"Alex wants to be a mountain climber," Giles murmured.

Xander followed his gaze up the rock face. "Are you kidding? Even I would be scared climbing up there."

Giles shook his head and started in that direction. "Alex is fearless. And Robin would be more afraid of being alone."

The challenge was finding where the children had started climbing. The incline was more gradual off to their left, near the beach, enough that a person could almost walk up, but Giles' instincts told him that they hadn't gone in that direction. So they continued to the right, hugging the edge of the cliffs to present a less visible target and watching the heights above them for the children.

* * *

Only Faith's reflexes saved Spike a staking. Her hand stopped Buffy's blow inches from her target. She shoved the other slayer back, and Spike whirled to see the danger he had narrowly missed.

"Hey, hey, I'm on _your_ side," he protested.

Buffy blinked at both of them, surprised by their presence. "How'd you get through the barrier?"

"Giles," Faith answered, and Buffy's eyes grew wider, filling with hope. She looked at Spike, understanding his presence now.

"Giles?" she asked him, hardly daring to put into words her hope, lest he dash it with his answer.

"Yeah, I rescued your man," he answered, straightening his leather duster by tugging on its lapels. "I think that deserves _not getting staked_."

Buffy closed her eyes in relief, a weight lifted off her shoulders by the simple knowledge that her watcher, her husband, had rejoined the land of the living, that he was somewhere close by, that when this crisis was over, she would be able to look into those green eyes once more and give him hell for all the worry he'd caused her. Her eyes popped open in the next instant when she'd fully processed Spike's accusation. "Hey, I didn't know I was about to stake _you_," she replied defensively. "I sense vampire, I've just been going for the kill. I've dusted eight already. Add in those nine we got by the barrier, and I'd say that's half as many vamps as we started with."

Faith shrugged and adjusted her crossbow in her hands. "Double the slayers, double the fun. Been a while since we played on the same team."

Buffy smiled faintly. Not that she didn't trust the other slayer. Well, alright, she didn't trust the other slayer. A few betrayals, a little body snatching, and some extra-curricular boyfriend stealing wasn't so easy to get over. But there were more important things at stake. "Yeah, maybe another time." She turned to the vampire, not even wanting to think about the fact that Spike of all people was the one she trusted more. "You and Faith got it covered? I have to find the twins."

He hooked her arm and pulled her back before she could go more than a few steps. "Giles and Xander are on it. Your watcher wanted me to make sure you knew. First priority's gettin' to Sabrina and the sword."

Buffy shook her head. "The beach is pretty much abandoned. No ceremony tonight. They went after the twins."

"That's just the thing." Spike drew out a cigarette and started smoking. God, time like this and the vampire couldn't lay off the cancer sticks for five minutes? Buffy and Faith both coughed when he exhaled a large cloud of smoke. "See, it goes something like this," he continued. "Watcher doesn't give us good odds 'gainst Queen Witch there. He wasn't a match for her, and he doesn't reckon you are either."

"She's the one who cast that spell on him?" Buffy gripped her stake tighter and shifted the sword and scabbard slung across her back, every nerve on fire with her anger. Slaying was comfort food, and the last days without her watcher had left her craving some serious comfort. She hoped this Sabrina was demon enough to slay, but even if she were human, Buffy didn't know if it mattered enough to stop her hand this time.

Spike smiled slyly as he tapped off his ash. "No, not her. But I'll give you three guesses who did."

Buffy felt her anger run cold. _No. Please, no._ She found her mouth suddenly dry. She had wondered, standing in the sorority house, staring at Willow's forgotten picture, if she had it in her to face off against her best friend. Fate seemed determined to put that question to the test. Just the idea of hurting Willow made her stomach churn. Best friends since day one. And ever since that first night at the Bronze, Buffy had felt responsible for Willow. If not for her, the shy high schooler would have never learned about the ooglie-booglies it was _Buffy's_ destiny to fight. If not for her, Willow would probably be at Oxford right now, learning some language only two other people in the world could speak, or inventing some computer thingie that would put Microsoft out of business.

If she had a choice, she would do what Giles had done: he had walked away from Ethan. After Randall, after Halloween, after Eyghon, and even the band candy. With a sharp threat on his tongue and a dark warning in his eyes, he had turned his back on his friend, let the man disappear back into the underworld, and made no effort to track him down and bring him to justice. The Initiative may have taken Ethan off to Nevada for a short time, but even after securing his freedom and helping Longsworth to steal their twins, Ethan was spared retribution from his old friend.

Giles had his limit, of course, and that was the warning that always darkened his eyes. But he didn't want to be pushed to that limit, didn't want to be forced to fight someone he had once cared about.

And neither did Buffy.

Spike nodded a small confirmation as he saw the recognition in her wide eyes and ashen complexion.

Faith, however, hadn't connected the dots. "So, _who_ cast the spell on Giles?"

Buffy looked down at the ground. Spike answered the question. "Red did."

"Red?"

Spike squashed out his cigarette to punctuate his reply. "Red."

Buffy could feel Faith's eyes on her. The other slayer sighed and offered kindly, "God, B, I'm sorry."

Buffy shrugged off the sympathy and started walking through the undergrowth, the other two quickly falling in step beside her. "Right now let's just focus on stopping this Sabrina and finding the twins. We'll worry about Willow later. So we find the sword and destroy it or something, right? Living Flame like with the Glove, right?"

Spike shook his head. "Your watcher doesn't think you're a match for her. She'll turn you into a slug or worse. Best Giles can do at the moment is change your eyeglass prescription before your yearly checkup."

"And she'll be even more scary powerful if she activates the sword." Buffy stopped and studied the bleached blond vampire. They had done the research. It all seemed to be pointing in the same direction, and yet it felt as if she were missing something. "So we destroy the sword, _right_?"

"Wrong," Spike countered. "Your watcher is certain the sword can only be used by the Mortog beast, that the Sorceress who made it gave the Beast the power to wield it. Anyone else who tries, finds themselves properly dead, and the sword starts over from square one. You try and go up against Sabrina, you won't get close enough to land a blow. But if you let her activate the sword, you won't have to. She'll get herself killed for you."

"So that's the plan."

"Means you'll need a sacrifice."

Buffy grumbled, "Volunteering?"

Spike laughed, but Faith piped up with the best idea Buffy had heard all day. "Can a vampire count as the sacrifice?" She was quick to add, "One that isn't Spike, I mean."

Buffy and Spike exchanged a glance. The vampire smiled wickedly. "Looks like we're hunting vampires. Good, something I _can_ hurt."

* * *

They were all hunting something. Giles and Xander were hunting the twins, as were Joseph and Sabrina and the many vampires and witches spread through the forest and along the beach. Buffy, Faith, and Spike were hunting for the sword and the sacrifice. Willow was hunting the brushline for the first sign that Julia had returned with reinforcements. And the Beast. The Beast was so close, it could taste it. It was hunting as well, unseen and unknown. It hunted the children, wanting its vengeance and its promised power. It thought sometimes that they knew it was near, was nipping at their heels. The Beast could sense it in the boy's thoughts, in the boy's gifts, that the child had Seen this moment coming, that he had woken in the night, trembling in fear with the knowledge. The Beast might not have cared before who was the sacrifice, as long as the power belonged to it in the end. But now the Beast wanted the watcher's child. Predator and prey, it hunted. The other watchers had spilled their guts with each stroke of its claws, and the Beast had tasted their blood. The boy would be the last of the watchers. And the girl…

_And so we shall become our enemies, and we shall use their own power to defeat them._

The girl would become their instrument, their slayer. Let an army come. The memory of Camela would stand fast, defended by the very power that had been her death. As the Beast had promised, she would be avenged, for the lines of watchers would soon be wiped from the earth and the slayers would die and be Called forevermore in Camela's name.

* * *

Robin was crying. Alex kept telling her it was only a little bit farther. He didn't think she'd ever climbed before, not even a tree, because she kept almost slipping. He didn't think it was that hard; they'd found a spot where the cliffs went up at an easier angle and there were lots of weeds and roots to hang onto as they climbed. But she kept shouting at him to "Wait!" and he kept shouting at her to "Hurry!"

He reached the top first and turned to look down. They were very high up, higher than he'd ever been before, and the view was amazing. The ocean went on forever and ever, a black mirror reflecting the night sky. Each white cap glittered in the faint light of the crescent moon.

Robin reached the top a moment later, and she scurried back from the edge. That was when Alex noticed that the ledge they were standing on continued back into the rock, turning into caves. He wished he knew how his dream had ended, but he always woke as they were running through the forest, running from the bad dog. He didn't know what to do now, except to wait and hide and hope his parents found him before anything else did.

They didn't have to wait long before they heard voices. But it wasn't their parents. It was the vampires who had been chasing them. And obviously they knew where the twins were hiding, because they were climbing the cliffs after them.

Robin started whimpering when she saw them, and Alex put his arm around her, even though he was just as scared as his sister. They both sucked their thumbs and waited.

* * *

Giles was tiring, was leaning against Xander's arm. They'd had a couple of close calls when they'd nearly been seen by some of the vampires who were also after the children, but they'd either managed to tuck themselves into a divot in the cliffs and evade notice or they'd managed to dust the vampires before they could alert any others. Giles made a mental note to give the young man some crossbow training when they got home. For some reason, he had thought Xander was a better shot than that. One poor vampire had taken a bolt in the shoulder, stomach, and groin before Xander had finally nailed the heart. Giles was fairly certain the vampire had welcomed death at that point, especially after the bolt to the groin. Luckily, for both them and the vampires, the next two were felled on the first try. Still, a little after hours crossbow training couldn't go awry. Giles had done the same for Jenny after that fateful incident in the park when she had shot him in the back.

The rocks opened up slightly just ahead, and when they neared the crevice, they could see a narrow path carved through the rock and leading to the ocean. Giles paused for a moment, wondering if the children might have hidden themselves in there. He chanced calling their names and waited, listening to the answering silence.

Xander tugged on his arm. "Come on. The cliffs don't look so hard to climb up ahead. They kinda go up at an angle. Don't worry, we'll find them."

Giles nodded, calling out for Alex and Robin once more before turning to follow Xander.

A moment later, and they heard an earsplitting whistle above them and looked up.

* * *

At first Alex thought he had imagined his father's voice, but then Robin raised her head, and he knew she had heard it too. Their father called each of their names, and he sounded very close by.

Alex stood and went to the edge to look down. The vampires were halfway up, and their father was nowhere in sight. Robin tugged on his arm and pointed to the caves behind them.

"Giles," she said with certainty.

So they went back through the caves, holding hands, both of them stopping for a moment when they entered total darkness. In the end, they were more afraid of the monsters behind them than the darkness ahead, and they pressed on, their courage bolstered by the promise that their father was nearby.

They heard him call their names again and followed the sound out of the darkness, which was thankfully brief. The caves opened up again onto another ledge similar to the one they had just left. The view was of a flat rock face straight ahead, but it was still the most beautiful view Alex had ever seen. Because directly below them, he could see Daddy and Uncle Xander.

"Giles," Robin called softly, plaintively, but nowhere near loud enough for anyone to hear more than five steps away.

Alex tried a little louder: "Daddy!"

But his father didn't seem to hear him, and they were starting to move away. That was when Alex remembered his Happy Meal toy from dinner. It was still tucked safely in the front pocket of his overalls. He pulled it out and gave the little plastic whistle a good blow.

* * *

"Jesus!" Xander exclaimed, his eyes tracing the sheer rock face up to the children. "How the hell did they get up there?"

Giles was wondering the same thing. "There must be an easier way up on the other side."

"Either that or you're going to need me to brick up the kid's window so he can't climb out."

Giles laughed off the comment, but in the back of his mind, he was thinking it wasn't such a bad idea. He waved at the children, and they waved back happily. But when he started to move around the corner, Xander quickly stopped him.

"Whoa, hang on a sec. You're barely mobile there, Giles, and in hardly any shape to try mountain climbing. Stay here. I'll scout out a way up that doesn't involve pickaxes and rappelling equipment."

Xander passed him the crossbow and left. Giles carefully maneuvered himself farther into the crevice, his hand gripping the rock wall for balance and his feet sliding slightly on the slick, uneven surface. His mind was already working through a plan B, because that was pretty much what a watcher's mind was trained to do. And if Xander couldn't find a way up to them, they would have to find a way down for the children.

Plan B soon became Plan A. Xander was only gone for a few minutes, but his return made it clear that no one was getting up to the children.

"There's an easier climb on the other side, but there are already three vampires almost to the top. And some others heard Alex's whistle and came running."

"Did they see you?"

"No." Xander took back the crossbow. "I could try and pick them off, but there's a lot of them, and I'm thinking we would need a slayer for this."

"Or at least someone who's a better shot," Giles said, more harshly than he'd intended.

"Hey! I got three." Xander relented a little on his defense. "Okay, the first took a few tries, but if he hadn't caught the first bolt in mid-air, I'm telling you, I would have dusted him in less than a second."

Giles smiled softly. "I'm sorry. I'm not quite myself yet, and I'm worried about my children. It all makes me a bit snappish, I'm afraid."

Xander patted him on the shoulder and looked back towards the clearing. "Forget about it. So, full front-on assault?"

Giles frowned and tilted his head in thought. "High casualty risk. Low chance of success." He was looking in the opposite direction, towards the ocean. "I say we get the children to jump in the water and go in after them there."

"Okay, there's a plan I would expect _my_ father to come up with, and he's a sick bastard. Are you crazy?"

Giles started carefully picking his way towards the ocean, not deigning to reply to the young man's jibes. He blew out a frustrated breath when he felt Xander's hand on his arm, stopping him. "What? Unless you have a better idea, this is the only way."

"Can I ask you something, Giles? Back in England, did you happen to grow up next to the ocean?"

"No," he replied quickly, eager to get this over with.

"And in all the years you've been in Sunnydale, how many trips have you made to the beach?" Xander interrupted before he could reply. "Where you actually went in the water?"

"Well, none. Your point being…?"

Xander started stripping off his shirt and shoes. "My point being: stand aside for someone actually born and raised near the ocean. Uncle Rory used to think it was funny to dump me overboard and make me swim for shore. If he was really drunk, he'd fall in after me, and I'd have to haul him back in the boat. Yes, sir, you are looking at a swimmer extraordinaire, summer lifeguard, and star of the Sunnydale High swim team."

"Xander," Giles warned with a small smile.

"Well, okay, I was only on the swim team for a week, but I played no small role in saving them all from becoming fish people, so I say that makes me a star." He wagged his finger in the older man's direction. "I'm telling you, if I'd wanted to, I coulda won medals. They didn't know what they were missing, not putting Xander Harris on the relay team."

Giles nodded his acceptance of Xander's revision to the plan. As much as he hated to admit it, if he were to try diving in after his children right now, he would likely end up drowning with them. "If you bring them both to shore safely, I'll pin a medal on you myself."

"Let me swim out a little ways before you get them to jump."

And barefooted, Xander trudged across the slick rocks and performed a perfect swan dive off the bank and into the water. Giles motioned to the children to follow along the ledge to the outcropping reaching over the water. He got as close to the bank as he dared, glancing over the side to assure himself that the children would clear the rocks when they jumped.

"Ready," Xander called.

Giles pointed to Alex and tried to illustrate in gestures what the boy was supposed to do. He was really terrible at charades. "Jump to Uncle Xander," he repeated over and over to his son, pointing to the young man treading water. Finally, Alex seemed to get it and stepped closer to the edge, staring down at the water and trying to discern his Uncle's dark form floating in a sea of dark water.

Giles gestured madly, trying to get the boy to move. "Jump far," he told him, wanting him to get as far out into the water and as far away from the rocks as possible. "Like a parachuter, Alex."

This Alex seemed to understand, and he backed up a few steps before taking a running leap over the side. Ah, the fearlessness of youth. The child was actually giggling as he freefell. Giles, however, felt his heart stop for those few seconds as he waited for his son to hit the water. He felt nauseous and swallowed back bile as he blinked away the vivid image of Buffy falling from Glory's tower, falling to her death. Sabrina had kindly made that image fresh in his mind, and for a moment he thought he could feel a twinge of remembered pain through his side. He was able to replay Buffy's fall more than twenty times before Alex plunged into the water with a splash. His son would be fine; his son would be fine. He hoped if he repeated it to himself enough times, he could make it come true.

And part of him was afraid of how easily Alex had jumped off the ledge. With the same careless abandon that he had jumped off the bleachers at Dawn's school. This was much worse than then. This was much higher, the landing less visible and more treacherous, and his father wasn't catching him, no one was. And yet, once Alex had understood what he was to do, he had done it without hesitation. Giles wondered how he would ever instill caution in the boy and what might befall him if he didn't.

He waited and watched as Xander swam to where Alex had dropped below the surface. He counted the seconds off in his head. One-one thousand. Two-one thousand. Three-one thousand. He wondered how long the child could hold his breath. Xander dove beneath the surface, and Giles was still counting. Four-one thousand. Five-one thousand. He wondered how strong the undertow was. But then Xander broke the surface with Alex in his arms. The boy was gasping and clinging desperately to his uncle. But he was fine. And Giles smiled, taking a gasping breath of his own, realizing for the first time that he had been holding his breath for as long as Alex.

* * *

Xander dove beneath the water before the spot Alex had hit, ripples still marking the point of impact like a bull's-eye. He wasn't sure if the boy had gone deep enough to reach the undertow, but if so, he would hopefully pass the child as he swam in against it. Xander was a good swimmer, always had been, and if he'd cared anything for sports, he might have done well on the swim team. But letterman jackets and school trophies paled in comparison to the nightly struggle against evil that had comprised his high school career, and so he had never bothered. Or rather, that's how he had rationalized it to himself. Sour grapes, some might say. Athletics tended to be one part ability and two parts popularity, and Xander had always come up short in the latter category.

The water was dark, too dark to see, so there was no point in opening his eyes. He reached out with his hands, far and wide, high and low, as he swam, searching for Alex. Surprising how much of his lifeguard training he still remembered: how to search murky or dark water for a drowning victim, how to get them both to the surface, different grips to swim them to shore. He had thought it would be a cool summer job after his freshman year of high school, but it turned out to be a lot more boring than it seemed on Baywatch. So he hadn't gone back and had never expected to use that training again.

But sometimes fighting evil required an eclectic set of skills. For example, when learning how to operate a wrecking ball, he had never needed to ask the foreman, "So, if I were to hit say… a hellgod with this thing, how much damage could I expect to do, and would I need a second hit?"

His hand touched denim, and he clamped on, pulling the child towards him by the strap of his overalls. He felt the boy's arms slide around his neck, trying to almost climb up his body in panic, and Xander adjusted his grip so he had hold of him from behind instead, so Alex couldn't grab him and drown them both as Xander struggled towards the surface.

He reached the surface and took a deep breath of air. He hadn't actually been under for that long and wasn't winded, but Alex was gasping, probably from a combination of having smaller lungs, being more afraid, and holding his breath longer.

"Shhh… It's alright, kiddo. We'll get you to shore and give your sister a go."

Alex was shivering, and Xander realized he was cold as well. The ocean was nippy this time of year. He swam them both to shore, where Giles was reaching for them and motioning frantically for Xander to hurry.

"Get her to jump," he told the watcher as he passed up the child, and then started back out into the water.

But Robin was more timid than her brother. Xander wondered briefly if she would have jumped if Giles had been the one waiting to catch her. But as the situation stood, she wouldn't budge. He could hear Giles pleading with her to jump, promising her that Xander would catch her, which was somewhat of a lie. But he would get her up to the surface in a hurry. The girl looked like she wanted to jump. She kept peering over the side. She was scared, and Xander didn't blame her. He wasn't sure he would want to jump in her place.

"Come on, Robin," he called, holding up his hands to her for a moment before needing them to tread water again. "People pay money to do this at the water park all the time. It's fun."

She made a few tentative tries, backing out at the last second before ever jumping. But her time ran out, and Xander saw the vampire behind her before she did. She screamed when it picked her up from behind.

"You want her?" the demon taunted, holding her out over the edge.

Xander clenched his jaw, muttering to himself, "Come on, just throw her in, you stupid jerk."

But it turned out the demon wasn't that stupid and didn't just throw her in for Xander to get. The vampire turned away from the ledge and disappeared from their vision.

Xander swam for shore with a speed that would have won him first place in any race. Giles offered him a hand up as he clambered up the rocks along the bank. As soon as he had regained his footing, he found young Alex pushed into his arms.

"Take him back to Anya at the car. I'm going up for Robin."

"Don't be crazy, Giles. There's like half a dozen vampires up there and probably more coming. We'll have Alex wait for us down here and go up together."

"No. Take him back to the car. Make sure he's safe. Take the crossbow with you."

"You're not the Slayer, Giles. You can't fight that many vampires hand-to-hand."

The look Xander received was deadly serious and brooked no argument. "No, but I can fight them with magic. Go."

Giles turned and walked off without waiting for any further debate.

Xander sighed and looked down at the child he was holding in his arms. "Your daddy's really stubborn, you know that?"

Alex sniffled. "Daddy 'ake up. No s'eep."

Xander smiled and slipped his wet feet in his shoes with a squish each. "Yeah, your Uncle Spike woke him up."

"Code," Alex complained, shivering as if to illustrate.

"Yeah, me too." The cool water mixed with the night air made it very cold indeed. Xander wrapped his dry shirt around the boy instead of putting it back on and earned a kiss on the cheek for his consideration. "Come on, let's get you back to Anya, and then I'll find your mommy. I wonder what she'll have to say about your daddy's little suicide mission."

* * *

The Beast saw the vampires near the top of the cliff and knew they had found the girl. It saw the watcher near the bottom and knew he was going after her. So the boy was not the last of the watchers after all. His father still lived and had broken free of the witch's spell.

And the watcher's son had already been rescued and spirited off.

The Beast roared its frustration and heard its cry echo across the landscape. Above, the crescent moon was nearing its zenith. The ceremony would need to be finished soon. It sensed that more witches had come to the beach and decided that one of them would have to do for the sacrifice. The watcher's child could be dealt with later. For now it had to claim the power of the sword.

It turned back into the forest.

* * *

Buffy eyed the other slayer warily. Faith had an unconscious vampire slung over her shoulder, which she promptly deposited on the ground in front of her.

Buffy pushed her own choice of sacrifice forward, the demon's hands firmly bound behind his back with her shoelaces and his mouth gagged with her hair band. She had really liked that hair band, too.

"Wish I'd thought of knocking him out," Buffy said with a frown.

"Where's Spike?" Faith asked.

"Still looking for his own sacrifice, I guess. But we beat him back. I say we just head for the beach." Buffy nudged the unconscious vampire with her foot. "Mine's a little more mobile than yours."

Faith shrugged and staked him. "Problem solved."

Buffy frowned down at the pile of dust with a thoughtful expression. "Notice how all the vampires in this little cult are men?"

Faith slipped her stake back into her front pocket, unconcerned by that bit of knowledge. "Yeah, I hear the glass ceiling on these vampire law firms can be a real bitch."

They heard a sound echo around them, something between a lion's roar and the first rumble of an earthquake.

"What the hell was that?"

Buffy's eyes were searching the woods around her. She was remembering her son's dream, how he had kept mentioning the bad dog and pointing to the Mortog beast. She was remembering April's description of the mutant bear that had attacked her and walked away from a bullet wound to the heart. She was thinking about what Spike had said: that only the Mortog beast could wield the sword.

Buffy swallowed and answered Faith. "I'm thinking Sabrina isn't the only one who wants the sword. Let's hurry."

* * *

Giles could feel his legs shaking from the effort of scaling the cliff. Even if it were an easier climb and a less hazardous incline, he was not in the best of shape to attempt it. But he could see the second group of vampires near the top and knew the first had already captured his daughter. That was enough to give him strength to go on.

His hands gripped each patch of tangled weeds and roots as his feet sought out purchase on each protruding rock. He needed to reach the top before the vampires started back down, or they were likely to just push him off. To that end, he struggled for a spell that might help.

Concentration was still difficult, and he wondered how long it would take him to recover from days of forced isolation and deprivation, or if indeed it might mark him forever. He actually had to pause in his climb for a moment to think of the spell, because he found he could not do both at the same time.

The answer skittered just beyond his grasp when he heard the Beast's howl. Not animal or human or vampire. It was definitely a demon of some kind. Whatever it was, it didn't sound happy, which he hoped foreshadowed a victory for the forces of good.

The spell. Focus.

He thought of a small bit of magic, something he had used at Oxford before dropping out, before joining up with Ethan, before Randall's death, before locking his magic away deep inside and avoiding its use at all costs. A small spell to make the long walks between classes and his dorm a little shorter. His roommate had always wondered how Giles always arrived everywhere first.

He spoke the incantation softly, his memory for the whole spell returning after the first few words, as something learned by rote flows to the end once it's begun. The spell folded distance, making each step he now took worth ten.

He reached the top in record time and pulled himself up onto the ledge. He strode into the cave, meeting the vampires on their way out. Four of them. The first three blinked at him in the dim moonlight, their vision still weakened by his previous spell.

"You again," one of them said.

The vampire he didn't recognize was the one holding his daughter. It looked as if the others had been fighting over her, but now this one held her and met his gaze evenly. Giles addressed this vampire, his voice cold and unforgiving.

"Get away from my daughter."

"Or you'll what?" Two vampires stepped out from the shadows behind him, leaving him surrounded on all sides. He remembered too late that there had been six total. "You are outnumbered and unarmed, mortal."

Giles raised his hands. "Incederete mortuī reī sed relinquerete meam cognatam integram!" The other vampires surrounding him burst into flame and fell as dust to the floor. Now just him and the vampire holding his daughter. "I'm telling you: put my daughter down. _Now_."

The vampire appeared shaken, his previous arrogance evaporated. He clutched the girl tighter to his chest, one hand resting against her cheek. "I'm willing to bet my life that I can break her neck before you turn me to dust. Are you willing to bet hers?"

Giles hesitated. If he did nothing, she was dead. If he did something, she was dead.

A moment later, the decision was taken from him. He felt a cold hand grab his throat in a crushing grip from behind. His own hands came up in a pointless effort to loosen the chokehold enough to breathe. All he could think of was that he had failed her. Again. He had lost his daughter to the darkness, and there was nothing he could do to save her. Robin would watch him die, and then she would become the slayer they molded her into.

His panic was banished in the next instant when he heard Spike's voice beside his ear. "So what you got there, mate?" Spike was in vamp-face and speaking to the other demon. "She doesn't hardly seem worth draining. You know, you catch 'em that small, you got to throw 'em back in. Wait for 'em to get bigger, big enough to eat. Like this one here." He stepped forward a few steps, still holding Giles in a death grip, his lungs screaming for oxygen. "Go ahead. Have a taste. I had my fill of the witches down on the beach. Couldn't drink another drop. I'll hold him for ya. Won't get a chance to do none of that mojo on you. Promise."

The other vampire smiled and set Robin on the ground. That was his fatal mistake, because in a single motion, Spike tossed the watcher aside with one hand as he raised the crossbow he had hidden behind him with the other. The vampire was dust less than a second after he realized his betrayal.

"Stupid fucking moron."

Giles remained on his knees for several moments, coughing and trying to catch his breath. He felt Robin's arms circle his neck, and he turned to take his child in his arms. She was trembling and frightened, but then again, so was he.

Spike stepped over to offer him a hand up.

"You didn't have to actually choke me," he complained.

"Had to look real."

"Yes, well, very successful. I nearly blacked out."

"Wouldn't be the first time. Well maybe the first time without actual head trauma. Although, I do recall Angelus throttling you 'til you were unconscious, so…"

Giles rubbed his throat and glared. "Don't you have a chip in that skull or something?"

"Your slayer and I went 'round on this before. Like I told her: only kicks in if I mean to harm you. You weren't in any danger."

"Tell that to my bruised windpipe."

Spike rolled his eyes. "Do stop being such a baby. Poor watcher. Your life pass before your eyes? Cuppa tea, cuppa tea, shagged the living daylights out of Buffy, cuppa tea? On second thought, not such a bad life to watch on repeats."

Giles sighed and glanced down at his daughter, still trembling against his chest, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck, her face burrowed into the crook of his neck, her bare legs cold to the touch. Strange, that after they had kidnapped his daughter, he should find it in himself to be irritated with them for not dressing her properly for the cool night. He rubbed her back in soothing circles as he shifted his weight back and forth, trying to calm her terror. "Speaking of Buffy?" he asked the vampire.

"Me and Faith caught up with her." Side by side, they both walked out of the cave and stood at the edge of the ledge. "I told her 'bout the sword, and we split up to look for a sacrifice. Figured demon would do as well as human. That's when I ran into a half-naked Xander, said you might need some help."

Giles nodded, thankful to whatever twist of fate was responsible for that chance encounter. "That makes twice today that I owe you my life. And now Robin's as well."

"Yeah, I'm thinking this deserves at least a month's supply of blood and some of your best Scotch. You could cut Dawn a little slack while we're at it."

They both looked over the cliff's edge at the distance they would have to climb down. Giles shifted Robin's weight in his arms and took a deep breath. "There's one more favor I need to ask of you. As much as this pains me to say, Spike, would you please take my daughter back to the car with Anya and Alex? I think she might be safer with you."

"You seemed to do alright for yourself there, calling down fire and all that."

"Yes, well…" Giles trailed off, his eyes seeking out the entrance to the cave, his mind tracing its possible route out to the ledge Alex had leapt from and on to the neighboring cliff, possibly on from there to the next and the next until connecting to the very cliff beside the beach and the ritual. "I have a strong suspicion that my magic might be needed elsewhere tonight. Will you take her?"

Spike slung the crossbow over his shoulder and reached for the girl, but she was having none of it.

"Spike, you're still in vampire face."

"Oh, sorry." He smoothed his features and tried again. "Come on, Half Bit. Uncle Spike won't let anything hurt you. Promise."

Giles rolled his eyes. "You are _not_ her Uncle Spike."

"Well, I'm sure that nice snark will win me her trust."

"I'm sorry." He closed his eyes, having run out of patience for the moment. "Now, Robin, you'll have to go with Spike. He'll make sure you get to Anya safely. Alex and Xander are there as well. Be a good girl and go on. I'll join you as soon as I can."

She whimpered as he tried to hand her over, and he felt her nails dig into his shoulders as she held on. She pleaded with him softly, her voice beside his ear, "No, Giles."

It broke his heart, but it had to be done. "I'm sorry, Robin. Spike, just take her."

She started to cry as she was ripped from his arms. Her little hands stretched for him desperately, and Giles had to turn his face from the sight. "Don't drop her on the climb down," he admonished the vampire softly.

"No worries. Your son's more of a handful at bath time than she could ever be."

Giles paused for a moment, wondering how on earth Spike could know that, before turning his back on both of them and heading into the cave.

* * *

Buffy and Faith had argued until the last possible moment. Faith seemed to doubt her fellow slayer's skills at undercover work. And while Buffy may not have had past experience at deceiving her friends and playing double agent, she didn't trust Faith to keep her cool long enough to play the lead in their little game.

So when they reached the group of witches standing in the clearing, they both tried to speak at the same time.

"So, guys, need help?"

"Look, we brought the sacrifice!"

The coven stared at them silently. A short sorority girl with long black ringlets eyed them skeptically. "Who are you?"

Buffy stepped forward in front of Faith, taking over their charade. "Friends of… you know, one of…umm…" What had Spike called her again? Oh, yeah. "One of Sabrina's friends. We came to help." She pushed the bound vampire in their direction. "We brought another sacrifice. Whadaya say we get the show on the road?"

Another sorority girl stepped forward. She seemed to be evaluating Buffy and Faith's taste in clothes. Buffy was reminded somewhat of Sunday's superior arrogance, and she felt a little like a freshman again.

"How come we've never seen either of you before?" the girl asked.

Buffy rolled her eyes and dismissed the question. "Like we don't have better things to do than hang out with all of you. So we going to do this or not?"

She felt Faith poke her in the side and with an irritated sigh turned to look at her. Faith was pointing to the forest behind them. Vampires. At least a dozen of them. One of them smiled. "Slayer," he said. _So much for the undercover approach._

The sorority girls gasped. "_You're_ the Slayer?"

Buffy shrugged. "What? No slayers allowed in your little club? Gotta tell you, the University'll be having a talk with you about Equal Opportunity."

Faith had already drawn her crossbow and was starting to take down the first line of vampires as they charged them. Buffy drew out her stake and joined the battle. The witches, thankfully, did nothing more than make an appreciative audience. She wasn't sure how she would have handled vampires _and_ magic if they had joined in. Although, she began to suspect that they were offering the vampires a little magical protection. Each foe seemed a little stronger, a little faster, a little harder to stake than normal. And Faith's bolts were just falling to the ground as fast as she let them fly. Eventually she gave up on her bow and tossed it to the side, joining her fellow slayer in hand-to-hand.

Sabrina's coven of witches continued to watch and to use their magic to defend, but not strike down. And Buffy and Faith placed their backs to each other and fought in unison as they hadn't since the accidental slaying of the Deputy Mayor.

* * *

Spike was thinking to himself that Buffy's kid was pretty much a pain in the ass. A brat. He would like to think that she got that from Giles, but having heard Dawn's stories from her childhood, he was pretty sure that trait was inherited from the girl's mother. According to Dawn, Buffy had always insisted on getting her own way. And when they were younger and still living with both their parents, back when Buffy had still fit the stereotype of vapid cheerleader, she'd had a tendency to whine when she wanted to weasel something out of their parents.

Robin was still fighting him. She'd struggled against him the whole climb down and almost gotten both their necks broke. He'd nearly lost her in the clearing at the edge of the forest, when he'd needed one hand to feel for the door Giles had magicked in the barrier. The little bint had actually bitten him, and he'd almost dropped her. "You don't want to get in a biting contest with me," he'd warned her.

Now he could see Giles' car just ahead and Anya in the driver's seat, dutifully ready to take off at a moment's notice. And the girl continued to kick and squirm in his arms. Alex, on the other hand, came running at the first sight of the vampire.

"Uncie 'Pike!"

He hefted the boy up with his free hand, carrying both children like footballs back to the car. Alex was cold and wet and making a damp spot where he pressed against Spike's side. But the boy was giggling, and Spike bounced him a little as he walked, eliciting more fits of giggles.

"I go sp'ash. Jump water. Big s'pash." Alex relayed the tale of how he got wet, not caring that he had already told the vampire when they met in the clearing earlier.

Xander was standing next to the car, his arms crossed over his bare chest, shivering. Alex was still wearing his shirt, which was now just as damp as the rest of the little boy. "Where's Giles?" the half-naked young man asked.

"Playing hero. Or getting himself killed. One or the other." Spike kicked the door, demanding that Anya open it, and she scowled at him as she did. He tossed the girl in the backseat. Luckily when Robin made a break for it, she found the door on the other side locked and childproofed. Spike wasn't sure where the girl would run off to, given the chance, probably to look for Giles, but wherever she wanted to go, it would be far less safe than staying in the car with Anya.

He tossed Alex in the backseat with his sister, and the boy immediately began tormenting her by rubbing his wet hair on her shirt.

"Stop it!" she whined, swatting him away.

"Good luck with the pair of them," Spike muttered to Anya, before shutting her in with the twins. He turned to Xander and looked the young man up and down. "A little more of you than I ever wanted to see, Harris."

Xander was rubbing his arms to warm himself up. "I didn't exactly bring a change of clothes. Didn't expect _swimming_ to be on the agenda."

Spike sighed and rolled his eyes. Christ, he could remember when he used to be _evil_. When had he gone all soft? He stripped off his black leather duster and handed it off to the young man. Xander didn't seem to know what to say, and Spike had an uneasy feeling that they were headed towards some sort of tender moment. He nipped that in the bud when he warned the young man dourly, "Mind you: ruin it, and I'll be mighty put out. Got that coat off the last slayer I killed."

Xander's arms were already in the sleeves, but he made a face before buttoning it up. "You have washed it since then, right?"

"What, and lose the lovely slayer smell?"

Xander shuddered, but was obviously too cold to refuse the coat on that basis. The pair of them headed back to the beach to offer whatever backup they could.

* * *

Sabrina and Morgaine reached the site of the ritual at the same time. They saw the battle raging between slayers and vampires, with their own coven tipping the scales in the vampires' favor.

"There's the slayer you said was Joseph's problem," Morgaine pointed out bitterly. "And look, she brought a friend."

"Give me the lecture later," Sabrina retorted, turning her eyes up to the night sky above. "We are running out of time." She pointed with Camela's sword towards the symbol still drawn in the sand. "Start the ritual. I'll make sure they don't interfere."

Morgaine didn't argue, but Sabrina could feel her friend's anger. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps she had taken too many chances, been too cavalier with their successes and too dismissive of their setbacks. It had become a game. But no longer. The finish line was in sight, and Sabrina would no longer concern herself with the other runners in their race, would no longer worry about who she could destroy and who she could turn dark, would no longer worry about anything except gaining the power of the sword.

She closed her eyes and found Willow through their joining spell. The twins were gone, and so there was nothing here for Willow to see that might shake her confidence in Sabrina and the coven. Only the two slayers, but that was easily explained, and Willow's faith in her old friends was already broken. This would put it to the test.

_Willow!_

Sabrina looked through the other's eyes, surveyed the battlefield from above, and listened to the witch's heart, knowing just what she wanted to hear, just what she needed to hear.

_The Council has found us, Willow. They've sent the slayers to hurt us. If we can just finish the spell, we'll be safe._

_I can't._ Willow answered. _I can't see at this distance. My magic might hurt someone._

_Then let me be your eyes._ Sabrina used the joining spell to channel some of her own power to Willow, to bolster her vision so she could see the battlefield not just with her eyes but with her magic as well. _Protect our circle. We just need enough time to finish the ritual._

And then Sabrina strode across the sand in long strides to stand beside the others. Morgaine had already divided them out, choosing eight to form the circle around the symbol and sending the others to stand guard and defend them against any would-be attackers. The bound vampire was positioned in the center of the symbol to serve as the sacrifice. But that would never do. What did Sabrina want with a vampire's power? She called another of their coven to stand as ninth in the circle. When the time came, Sabrina would push her into the symbol, and she would be the sacrifice. But the poor thing was innocent and trusting and never wondered why, with Sabrina, they now had ten and not nine.

* * *

Faith hadn't felt so alive in years. The adrenaline was pumping, the whole world had fallen away, and she felt righteous again. Things were simple again. She was fighting bad guys, and she was one of the good guys again. With Buffy at her back, it was like having a second pair of hands, like they could read each other's minds. Buffy would lose the upper hand with the one she was fighting and toss him in Faith's direction. Faith would return the favor. Both vampires would turn to dust at the same moment. It was like a choreographed dance, how they each made room for the other, how they filled in the gaps and weaknesses of the other, how they made a natural team.

Faith didn't seem to care much that the vampires seemed faster, stronger. It only made it more of a challenge. She still had that same familiar feeling: the one that told her that they were going to lose and she was going to win.

That feeling faded somewhat when she felt herself go flying across the beach and land flat on her back. She shook her head to clear it. She noticed that Buffy was in a similar position on the other side of the beach, the group of vampires now between them. They had been separated.

Buffy looked up at the cliff behind her and shouted to Faith, "It's Willow!"

Faith looked up and saw it too: the figure standing on a ledge high above them. Buffy was headed in that direction, but Faith knew she couldn't let her go. She raced across the distance, dodging vampires and ducking blows until she had reached Buffy's side. "No, B, I'll go."

Buffy shook her head. "I have to do this. She's _my_ friend."

"That's exactly why you shouldn't have to do this." Faith didn't know how to make anything up to anyone, how to atone for any of the wrongs she'd done. Angel had told her that she would get through it one day at a time, a fine philosophy for dealing with her own pain and guilt, but it couldn't hope to even the score. In the end, she had done the right thing by confessing and going to jail. That was the more abstract right, but it did nothing to mend the more concrete wrongs she'd done each person. Not Wesley. Not Buffy. Not anyone. This was something she could do for Buffy. She could spare her fellow slayer the pain of fighting her friend. Because Faith knew as much as it had pained Buffy to fight _her_, it would kill her to have to fight Willow.

Buffy finally nodded, her eyes haunted with the knowledge of what would have to be done, their blue depths grateful to Faith for bearing that burden for her.

Faith headed for the path up to the cliff, leaving Buffy behind to take on the less confusing evil of the vampires surrounding her.

She reached the ledge, and Willow was waiting for her. Her eyes were black, not the slightest sliver of white in them. Faith had heard that the more powerful magic did that to people, but she had never seen it up close and personal. It dawned on her then that she had no idea how she was going to fight Willow. All those years ago in the Mayor's office, Willow had barely had the power to float a pencil, let alone square off against a slayer. Faith had threatened her with the knife the Mayor had given her, and that had been enough. Now, she doubted if any weapon would be enough against a bad-ass witch hell bent on tearing her apart.

"Faith," Willow said sharply. "I should have known the Council would send you."

Faith shifted slightly on her feet, her hands twitching in anticipation. She felt like they were two gunfighters from some cheesy western, each waiting for the other to make the first move. She licked her lips and tried talking first. "So how 'bout that 'Willow, we're still your friends, we can help you, it's not too late' speech?"

Willow shook her head, her face serious. "Oh, it's way too late for that."

"That's what I was afraid of." She tried a different approach. "How 'bout we take a time-out to figure out which side you're really on here, Red. I mean, they must have really done a number on you if you're willing to fight Buffy and… and Giles of all people. I mean, hello, librarian. Not exactly Big Bad material."

"You wouldn't understand."

Faith rolled her eyes. "No, of course I wouldn't understand being seduced over to the dark side, 'cause I've never been standing in your shoes before."

"No, you haven't," Willow spat back. "I didn't betray my friends. _They_ betrayed _me_! Tara is dead and… and you wouldn't understand that either, because you've never loved _anything_."

"Okay, so I don't understand. Explain it to me. Make me understand why you would turn your back on your best friends, why you would mess up Giles with that spell, why you would hook up with this witch bitch who would make the Mayor look like Mister Rogers."

Willow knocked Faith back three feet with a simple gesture. The slayer glanced behind her and realized one more foot would have sent her over the edge. She looked back at the witch. Willow's face was pinched with anger.

"She's not like that. She's nothing like the Mayor. Sabrina's _good_. She's only trying to protect us. It's the Council that's messed up, Faith. And the fact that they would take _you_ back has got to be proof positive of that."

Faith pulled herself to her feet. Keep her talking. This was good. She didn't actually have to fight her; she just had to keep her talking. "Maybe that's how things are in your world, Red, but here in the real world, the facts are just a little bit different. The Council is toast. I'm talking bombed out, no survivors, hole in the ground to mark the spot, toast. Giles _is_ the Council now, so if you've got issues with him, you two should sit down and have a little heart-to-heart. And your friend? Yeah, she's so good, she tried to kill me. Killed Travers. Kidnapped Alex, tried to use him for this insane ritual. And just a little heads up here-" Faith pointed to where the witches were circled together on the beach. "_That_? Not a good thing. Someone's about to get killed down there."

Willow laughed. "And why should I believe anything you say? Every word out of your mouth has been a lie from day one." Her eyes narrowed. "The Council set you free, Faith? They make a deal with you? You'll be their little assassin, and they'll set you up real good like the Mayor did?"

Faith felt her temper flare. Willow was making the same mistakes that she had and was still playing the role of little Miss Perfect. Talking, apparently, was going to get them nowhere, not with Red's holier-than-thou attitude. And Faith was starting to feel the need to give someone a good beating. "So, we gonna throw down, or what?"

"I'd like to see you try and touch me."

And then Faith was having second thoughts about a face off and was wishing she could go back to the talking part. Because Willow was chanting something in some language she didn't know, and the air was beginning to swirl around her, and Faith was realizing that she was out of her league.

With a final word, power crackled from Willow's fingertips, and she unleashed her spell. Faith thought briefly of Giles lying unconscious on the floor, of his soul-rending cry that had sent Buffy charging down the stairs, of how even now he was marked by it, how he had sat curled in the grass with the book across his lap, rocking and murmuring to himself like the guy from Rainman.

Faith hoped that Willow would just kill her. Not just to avoid Giles' fate, but also to put an end to all her regrets, an end to every hour of every day when she was haunted by the memories of what she had done: Wesley's bloodied face staring at her in contempt, _You are a piece of shit_, looking at herself through Buffy's eyes and pummeling her own face as she repeated it like a mantra: _You're nothing; you're nothing_, and always, always, the face of Deputy Mayor Allen Finch as the light went out in his eyes.

Let Willow kill her. What could Faith do to stop it? This could be her redemption. She would die in Buffy's place, and this would make everything right again.

Willow's power coalesced into a raging fireball that came hurling straight towards the slayer. Faith closed her eyes. A moment later, and she opened them again. Willow looked as baffled as she was. The fireball had dissipated before ever reaching its target.

But all was soon explained by the familiar voice inside her head, and Faith smiled. She closed the distance between them and punched Willow in the jaw, knocking her back on her butt. Hands on hips, Faith looked down her nose at the witch. The scales had just tipped back in her favor.

"Check it out, Red. I got watcher back-up."

Willow turned her face to look out across the beach. Giles was standing on the opposite cliff.

* * *

Willow's head was pounding. It felt like Faith had broken her jaw. And with her magic-enhanced vision, she could see Giles standing on the opposite cliff where Melody and Delilah had stood before Melody's fatal fall.

Giles had escaped her spell, and now he had come with the other watchers and the slayers, and Willow didn't intend to make the same mistake twice. She had held back her power before, trapped him and nothing more, but this time she would hold back nothing. Melody was dead. Four others of their group were dead. Tara was dead. No more innocent blood would be spilled for the foolish ideals of the Council, not if Willow could help it.

She raised herself to her feet. "God of wind and winter storm, I call on thee my will perform: walls of cold unyielding ice surround and squeeze him like a vise."

She felt the cool wind rise at her command, sensed the force of her spell begin to solidify into his ice prison, but then his own magic lashed out and met hers. Her spell crumbled beneath his will. And Faith was advancing again, was pressing her advantage.

Willow struck out at Faith: "Kali, Hera, Kronos, Tonic… Air like nectar thick as Onyx... Cassiel by your second star... Hold mine victim, as in tar!" The air became impossibly thick, and Faith pushed against it, struggling to come closer to Willow, but barred by this barrier.

Willow felt herself flung backwards. She hit the rocks behind her hard and slid down to the ground. Raising her head, her eyes found Giles. He wasn't giving an inch; he was already casting the next spell, meaning to bind Willow this time, and God, was his magic strong. Willow had the disadvantage in this situation: her attention was divided between Giles and Faith. She raised her hand and blocked his spell, their power clashing in the air above the beach, exploding like fireworks in the space between the cliffs.

But it weakened her hold on Faith, and the slayer came closer. Willow couldn't hold them both off, but she could divide his attention as he had divided hers. She wondered if he could protect both Faith and himself.

She faced the slayer and smiled in anticipation. She had always privately thought that someone should turn her into a rat. "Goddess Hecate, work thy will: before thee let the unclean thing crawl!"

Light swirled around the slayer, but it crackled as it failed to solidify. Giles was shielding her. And so Willow lashed out at her old friend and mentor. Her magic increased steadily, and his own weakened as he fought to shield both Faith and himself. He dropped to one knee. The air between them rippled and flashed with light and energy. She knew tricks that he couldn't even imagine. Sabrina had taught her well, hadn't hidden books out of sight or scolded her for curious explorations. Under Sabrina's tutelage, Willow had awakened power within herself that Giles and the Council would have rather lain dormant.

And so she wanted him to see what she had become, what he had tried to deny her. She wanted him to taste her magic and know that she was no longer a naïve schoolgirl. And so she threw every bit of power she had at Giles. If he wanted to fight her with magic, then he would learn the hard way that she couldn't be bested.

* * *

Giles struggled to hold back Willow's onslaught, feeling himself torn in two directions as he also tried to maintain the shield around Faith.

He had followed the caves through the cliffs, past the ledge Alex had jumped from and onto another set of caves and another. He had been right to hope that they might eventually open out onto the beach and the ritual. He had searched, not just with his eyes, but with his power as well, the magic becoming easier the more he used it. He had searched for Buffy first. She was on the beach, fighting for her life against a horde of vampires. He had wanted to help her, but he had noticed Faith then, standing off against Willow on the opposite cliff. In times past, there wouldn't have even been a choice. But now Faith's fate was linked with his daughter's, and to choose between Buffy and Faith was also to choose between Buffy and Robin.

In the end, Buffy was holding her own, and Faith was in dire straits. So he had used his power to stop the fireball Willow had hurled at the other slayer.

Now, he was thinking very little of how he could help Buffy or Faith, and was more worried about keeping Willow at bay, stopping her from sending him back into the darkness or worse.

He was tiring. He was a match for her, but not with his concentration divided. The air between them was alive with power, a raging firestorm above the beach below. He blocked her every spell, but that left him with nothing to mount his own attack. He protected himself, and he protected Faith, and even those two ends were becoming more difficult. Willow was powerful. And she was angry. And for some reason, she blamed him for Tara and for who knew what else. She lashed out at him with a righteous rage, and he didn't know if he had it in him to give as good as he got. He didn't know if he had it in him to actually hurt Willow.

He couldn't keep this up for much longer.

_Faith._ He called to her, as he had after blocking the fireball. _Be ready. I'll give you an opening, and then you must take out Willow._

He bolstered the shield around Faith and felt his own weaken accordingly. He whimpered slightly as wind like sharp knives assailed him. He took a deep breath and braced himself as he knocked down the barrier between Willow and Faith.

Pain.

He flew back against the rocks behind him, as there was nothing now between him and Willow's assault. Half a dozen of her spells that he had kept at bay now roared to life around him. Fire and ice, serpents and steel, quicksand beneath him and a rain of glass across his skin. He cried out and felt blood spill out his nose and into his mouth. He tasted blood and fear, and through it all, he held the shield around Faith.

* * *

Faith pushed against the barrier. She was trapped, like trying to move through drying cement. She had felt a brief moment of panic when she had thought Willow might turn her into a rat. She remembered that after Buffy and Willow had narrowly avoided being burned at the stake back in high school, that they had shown her Amy in her little cage with her little wheel. Faith might have thought prison was bad, but she would gladly take those bars rather than that tiny cell.

But she could almost see the shield that kept Willow's spell at bay, and so she thankfully wasn't turned into a rat. Giles, of all people, was protecting her.

She could do nothing but stand witness to the mage battle being waged before her eyes. She could make no move. She could offer no magic of her own. She could only stand idly by and hope Giles' shield would hold. She watched their power clash in the air at the mid-point between their cliffs. She could barely see Giles at this distance, and she wondered briefly if his eyes were as black as Willow's, if his hands crackled with power that arced between his fingertips as Willow's did.

And then she heard his voice inside her head, just as she had after the fireball had miraculously dissipated. Just like then, it momentarily scared the crap out of her, having someone else's voice suddenly inside her head. But she recovered quickly and focused on his words.

_Faith. Be ready. I'll give you an opening, and then you must take out Willow._

Like a runner at the starting block, she prepared herself for that opening. She saw a flare of light from the shield surrounding her, and then the thick air around her thinned enough for her to move. She sprinted the short distance between her and Willow, and without hesitation, landed a punch that should have knocked the witch out cold.

But Willow had seen her coming and had time enough for some small measure of magical defense. The blow only knocked her off her feet. Those black eyes were focusing once again on Faith, and the slayer rushed forward in an attempt to head off the witch's next spell.

_I can protect you, Faith._ Giles' voice in her mind again. He sounded winded. He sounded tired. He sounded like he was in pain. _Knock her out, but don't kill her. You understand me, Faith? Don't kill her._

Faith wasn't making any promises.

Her hands around Willow's throat, she would introduce Red to unconsciousness if she could, but if it came down to saving her own skin or saving Willow, Faith would weep no tears over this death. Not an innocent life beneath her hands, but not a demon either. Willow had made her choices, and that put her somewhere in the middle.

One of Willow's hands tried to loosen Faith's grip on her throat. The other hand was pressed against Faith's belly. Where it touched her, she grew steadily warmer. She hoped Giles was doing his stuff, and if he was, she wondered how much worse it would have been without him.

Faith's hands began to slide from Willow's throat. The warmth changed to pressure, and Faith found herself again thrown back nearly to the edge.

Willow charged, determined to be the one on top this time, determined to have her own fingers around Faith's neck. Faith waited for the right moment, and then she turned Willow's momentum against her. She flipped the witch over and past her, except that there was no ground on the other side for Willow to land on. Nothing to keep her from falling except Faith's hand, still gripping Willow's arm tightly.

How could a Slayer lack the strength to hold onto one petite young woman? How could the hand that could keep its grip on a sword while being hammered by a 300 pound, battleaxe wielding Slith demon lose its grip on another person's hand? Faith knew they would ask her those questions later. She knew they would believe that she had done it intentionally. It didn't matter what they thought. All the Slayer strength in the world couldn't keep hold of Willow's arm as it slid through Faith's fingers.

Willow fell, with only the beach to catch her.

* * *

Buffy didn't see her friend fall. She didn't see much of anything except the mouthful of fangs that leaned over her. Two other vamps pinned her down as their friend tried to sample a bit of slayer's blood. But then he was dust, and soon after so were his two friends. Buffy coughed and tried to see through the cloud of vampire remains.

"Spike?" The air settled, and the figure became clearer. "Xander?" Her friend offered her a hand up. "Why are you wearing Spike's coat?"

"Been asking myself the same question," the vampire answered from behind her. "Duck!"

She and Xander both dropped to their knees as one. Spike staked the vampire who had thought to sneak up from behind.

They rose again, and Buffy sized up her two allies: Spike and Xander each had a crossbow strapped to their backs and a stake in their hands. Xander was also clutching a large cross in his other hand.

"Think you can handle the LA Law rejects?" she asked them.

"Sure," Spike assured her gamely. "You've already thinned the herd a bit for us."

"Keep them occupied. I have to get to the ritual."

And Buffy was off. She pushed her way through the line of vampire lawyers, Spike and Xander lending a hand to give her room. And then she was face-to-face with the small group of witches assigned the job of guarding the circle.

"Hey, look! It's Harry Potter on a broomstick!"

None of them turned to look.

"Alright, looks like we do this the hard way." There were only four total, and Buffy doubted any of them were really prepared to hurt someone. So far they had only used their magic for defense. She expected that's what they would do now. Or at least she hoped that's what they would do.

Her slayer speed allowed her to catch the first one off guard. A solid punch to the jaw, and she was out cold. The second one didn't go down so easily. The other two were shielding her. They probably expected Buffy to keep trying until she'd knocked her out. But Buffy never did the expected. She spun and delivered a round house kick to one of the other pair, abruptly shifting targets. Her partner stood in shock, unable to recover fast enough to shield the punch Buffy delivered to her immediately afterwards.

Three out cold, and Buffy faced the one left standing. She looked impossibly young. Closer to Dawn's age than college-age, she must be one of the runaways instead. The girl's eyes went wide, and all the color drained from her face. She didn't wait for Buffy to knock her out; she turned tail and ran.

Buffy strolled over casually to join the circle standing around the sand drawn symbol. They were chanting. Their hands were moving in a synchronized pattern. It reminded Buffy somewhat of a very odd cheerleading routine.

Sabrina was holding the sword aloft, and her eyes narrowed when she caught sight of the slayer. Buffy smiled sweetly and drew her own sword, using it to gesture between them as she mouthed the words: _You're mine._

Sabrina's eyes darted up to check the moon's progress across the sky.

"Go ahead and finish," Buffy told her. "I can wait." _Can't wait to see your power go boom, though. Want a front row seat for that._ She thought of Giles lying pale and still on their bed, thought of Alex crying himself out in her arms after a terrible nightmare, and her anticipation for Sabrina's destruction only increased.

Sabrina seemed to accept Buffy's reprieve, and her eyes closed. The chanting continued, reaching a crescendo, and Buffy waited. Bored, she studied her opponent head-to-toe, disappointed that she couldn't deliver Sabrina's destruction with her own hand. At the moment, Buffy felt no moral compunctions against taking a human life. As she would have taken Faith's life to save Angel, she was ready to take Sabrina's life to protect her family.

That was when she noticed it. Her gaze skipped past it at first, but quickly backtracked to focus on that spot. A slayer's intuition and the past days' research… Alex's dream and April's attack… Giles would be proud of her. Buffy had just pieced the puzzle together, as even her watcher hadn't. In that single instant, with that tiny, seemingly insignificant detail, everything clicked into place, and Buffy knew.

She knew that Giles was wrong.

She leapt through the circle and tackled Sabrina on the other side. Both their swords went flying across the sand.

"Don't stop!" Sabrina shouted to the others. "Finish the ritual!"

The nine witches continued without pause as Sabrina struggled to gain the upper hand on Buffy. She was rapidly succeeding. There wasn't a single move Buffy could make that Sabrina couldn't anticipate. Buffy found each blow blocked before she could even think of it. Buffy was not so lucky. Sabrina seemed to know just where to hit, just how to use the slayer's momentum against her, exactly how to slip beneath her defenses, and just where each weakness lay.

Buffy heard Giles' voice inside her head: _Let her take the sword, Buffy. It will destroy her._

But Buffy was too absorbed in combat to carry on conversations in her head. The two of them rolled across the sand, and Sabrina landed on top. She smiled down on the slayer and whispered, "They'll forget you, you know. After you've died. They're too young."

Buffy took a swing, which Sabrina easily avoided. The chanting lent a steady drumbeat to their fight, an urgent reminder that time was running out.

* * *

Silence. All the more quiet in contrast to the urgent chanting of moments before. Morgaine tilted her face up until she could feel the moonlight across it. She could feel the light of the crescent moon at its zenith shiver through her whole body. She knew the others felt it too. They caught their breath and waited, feeling it across their skin and in the wind as it whipped across the breakers and over the shore. The first smatterings of rain tickled her cheeks, and she smiled as she heard the faint rumbling of thunder.

The light raindrops pricked random holes in the sand, and the circle of nine waited, watching the vampire in the middle of their crescent moon and lightning bolt, a sacrifice bound by rope and spell to their altar. Camela's sword lay abandoned only a few feet away, and soon it would contain the power for which it was forged.

"Well, well, well," a voice called out from behind her. "Sabrina leave you in charge, did she?"

Morgaine stiffened and spun to face the intruder.

Joseph Zalk held a crossbow leveled at her, and she had a sinking feeling that Sabrina would soon learn just what sparing his life would cost her.

* * *

Giles wiped the blood from his nose with the back of his hand. He stumbled closer to the ledge's sharp drop-off. He had untangled himself and defused all of Willow's spells. He was now left with shallow cuts across his face and hands, a monster migraine, and a slight ache and limp in his right leg as reminders of their battle. _Great, just great. You'll have two lame legs when this is all over._

Faith was headed down after Willow, but he couldn't think about that right now. He couldn't dwell on the possibility that Faith might find her dead at the bottom. For right now, he had to focus on the battles yet to be decided.

Buffy was losing to Sabrina, just as he had feared she would. He had tried to remind her.

_Let her take the sword, Buffy. It will destroy her._

But why should he have expected her to listen to him? His slayer was stubbornly independent that way. And now that stubborn streak was likely to get her killed.

Because how could she hope to fight a foe that could practically read her mind?

* * *

Morgaine flicked one of her fingers ever so slightly and conjured a small distraction. It was all she needed to make a play for the crossbow in his hands. But never having fought a vampire before, she found him stronger than she had imagined. He held tight to his grip on the weapon, and they wrestled for it, sending the loaded bolt flying into one of the unsuspecting coven. The girl went down to her knees, the bolt driving itself into her side, her cries of pain echoed by the rising thunder.

Morgaine and Joseph twisted and switched positions again and again, neither willing to relinquish their hold on the crossbow. She drew breath to utter a spell, and that was when he seemed to realize he couldn't win.

He let her have the crossbow. She was tugging against him so hard that when he abruptly let go, she found herself staggering backwards, knocking into the bound sacrificial vampire and bumping him out of the symbol. She landed on her butt, the bow in her lap. Her eyes traveled over the sand surrounding her: the half-circle of crescent moon, the jagged line of lightning bolt, the small divots the soft rain had poked in the sand.

She jumped to her feet as quickly as she could, but she wasn't fast enough. She heard the crack of lightning, and her eyes sought out Sabrina's one last time.

For hundreds of years, they had stood at each other's side. Sabrina had freed her from mortality, had shown her worlds she had never imagined. Morgaine smiled for her friend, hoping she would appreciate the irony.

For they had met all those centuries ago on just such a rain dappled, moonlit night. She wasn't called Morgaine then. She couldn't remember what they had called her. But she could still remember the sound of drums and the smell of burnt offerings left on the rocks before her. She had come to Sabrina as the sacrifice, and now she would leave her in the same way.

* * *

Sabrina's attention wavered, her head snapping up the moment Morgaine toppled into the symbol. It gave Buffy the chance to free herself from the witch's hold. Buffy should have pressed her advantage, but she couldn't resist following Sabrina's line of sight to the ritual circle and the woman standing in the center. She was smiling back at Sabrina. It was only a half-second at the most, the crash of thunder booming near, before a loud crack rent the air, its sound sharp like trees snapping in half.

An arc of lightning reached down from the heavens and struck the woman. Blue flame consumed her, and Buffy was reminded of Gwendolyn Post after the Glove of Myhnegon was sliced from her arm. Morgaine screamed, and it seemed like her mouth opened wider and wider, becoming a chasm she disappeared into until the only thing remaining of the black witch was the spotty aftervision her brilliant departure burned into each observer's eyes.

Buffy blinked several times before that too disappeared. No one was moving. Even Sabrina seemed riveted to the spot lightning had struck.

So Buffy was the first perhaps to notice that the ritual symbol drawn in sand was now alive with blue flame. And the sword too glowed blue, like it had just been pulled from some unnatural forge.

She was the first to notice, Sabrina was the second, and Joseph was the third. They all started to move at the same instant, Sabrina and Joseph each making a desperate bid to reach the sword first and Buffy caring only to stop Sabrina.

She managed to tackle the witch to the ground, buying Joseph the remaining seconds he needed to reach the blazing sword. Sabrina howled in defeat as she saw him lift Camela's blade from the sand.

"My own Council," he told her smugly. "Each generation of slayers will be mine, from now until the end of time."

The blue halo of the blade spiraled down the hilt and then around his arms. The blue energy continued to circle him, wrapping its power around his shoulders, his torso, and down his legs. Joseph smiled and brandished the sword high in victory. The blue light completely enveloped him and began to infuse him with its energy. The smile abruptly left his face, and he started to tremble.

"What's happening?" he asked Sabrina in panic.

His arms were shaking, his teeth chattering, his whole body beginning to convulse as the power of Camela's sword overtook him, as he began to incinerate from the inside out.

Buffy had seen it happen before. Not the most pleasant of ways for a vampire to die. She had done it to Kralik on her eighteenth birthday, given him a glass of holy water to wash down his pills. In the same way, smoke began to rise from Joseph's mouth, from his body. He screamed once before he exploded in a cloud of dust.

The sword tumbled through empty air, embedding itself in the sand, the blue glow fading, the blade standing upright, its hilt offered out like Excalibur in the stone for whoever wished to pull it from the sand.

Sabrina pivoted to face the slayer. Buffy was surprised that the witch's glare didn't just incinerate her on the spot.

"You _will_ pay for that," Sabrina promised her.

* * *

Giles watched from his perch, vindicated by Joseph's destruction. He was right. Only the Mortog beast could claim the power of the sword. However, it didn't change the fact that it should have been Sabrina and not Joseph who was consumed by Camela's power. Now they were still left with the dilemma of how to stop the formidable witch.

Giles attempted a small spell, just something to knock her off her feet, something to give Buffy the slightest opportunity. His own magic only rebounded back to him, and he found himself knocked back to the ground.

_Patience, dear Watcher_, Sabrina's mocking words rang through his head. _Your turn will come._

She and Buffy circled each other on the beach below, exchanging blows. The witch dodged each attack and returned them with relish. His slayer was able to avoid some, but most connected solidly, driving her back again and again. Buffy could not stand her ground. Retreat. Retreat. Giles could do nothing except stand and watch his slayer get thrashed.

_Clear your mind, Buffy._ It was the only advice he could offer her: the memory of their training sessions and the meditations he had taught her. _Let the world fall away. Fight with instinct, not thought._

He doubted if it would be enough. One thing he had learned during Sabrina's visits to his mental prison was that she could see straight through to the thoughts you had buried beyond even your own awareness.

Buffy's voice echoed back to him, a desperate plea for his help: _Giles, how do I kill her?_

_I don't know._ It cut him to the quick to think it. _If she had taken the sword, it would have destroyed her. But now-_

_No._ Buffy's voice was firm in his mind, even as she landed on her back, rolling quickly to avoid Sabrina's kick. _Don't you get it? She is the Mortog beast._

_What?_

_I saw it._ Even in Buffy's projected thoughts to him, she was panting with the effort of her fight. _The Beast attacked April, but she shot it in the heart before she passed out. Sabrina has the scar on her chest. And she's strong, Giles, stronger than any human has a right to be._

_Of course!_ He didn't know why he hadn't thought of it before. _Camela gave the Beast her powers before she died._

_I'm guessing shapeshifting was on the list._

He shuddered to think what would have happened had Buffy not reached the conclusions that he had overlooked. The Beast would have claimed the power of the sword, and she would have been even more unstoppable than she was now.

No point in dwelling on what-might-have-beens. The important thing was to use this new information to their advantage. Knowledge was power, and knowing one's enemy was half the battle. The Mortog beast, undoubtedly wearing Camela's face as well as wielding her power, was a difficult demon to kill. Giles could think of nothing but a clean decapitation that would do the job. But add in the Sorceress's power, and Buffy stood no chance of landing that final blow.

And what could Giles do? Sabrina would see him in every spell he tried, making a mage battle rather pointless. Not to mention that he could hardly hope to out-magic her. Willow, perhaps, although at a price too dear to contemplate. Now that he was willing to touch the power he had pushed down deep after Randall's death, Giles would not be boasting if he were to claim an equal level with the young witch. And the magic seemed to get easier the more he used it, as his doubts and fears of his darker side began to fade and the memory of his skills began to return to him as if never forgotten. He could hold his own against Willow, no matter how deeply he might regret it later, but the sorceress Camela had been legendary, and a demon with her gifts would be out of his league.

He paused for a moment, returning to an earlier thought. _She would see him in every spell he tried_. That was the basic dilemma they faced, but suddenly Giles realized that could be the solution as well. She would see _him_ in every spell he tried.

He focused on his slayer, sending his thoughts out to her, surrounding her with everything he was. He murmured it beneath his breath, and it was more than the incantation to a spell, it was the truth of his existence:

"I am yours."

She struck hard, and Sabrina lay unmoving on the ground, the shock clearly written on her face.

Buffy could strike because Giles cloaked her with his magic. He could not fight with magic, because the Sorceress would be prepared for every spell. His slayer could not fight with fists or sword, because her opponent could anticipate each attack. But together they were a formidable weapon. Giles understood now what it truly meant to be a Watcher, how it had been in the beginning, why the bloodlines of the Council were chosen for their power. Centuries and generations had turned the watchers into scholars, had removed them far from the war they waged and placed them in an ivory tower of academia, until only the blood in their veins remembered and only the words remained, a hollow metaphorical idea that old men in dark libraries used to soothe their consciences when they sent young girls to their deaths: The Slayer is the instrument; the Council is the hand. The slayers change, the Council remains. It's been that way from the beginning. Travers had told him that, and Giles, filled with righteous indignation, had said that it was a very comforting bloodless way of looking at it, that Buffy was in fact no one's bloody instrument. But Travers was not the first to use that turn of phrase. Giles had seen it in other watchers' diaries, had heard it from other watchers' lips: The Slayer is the instrument; the Council is the hand.

Here on this battlefield, his slayer _was_ the instrument by which he fought Sabrina. And he _was_ the hand. Not the hand that gave her the sword or pointed her to her enemy or took each practice blow in his padded palm or turned the pages of a book while sitting far from danger. He was the hand that shielded her with magic, the hand that stood between her and her foe's power, power not even a slayer could defeat. Sabrina would see nothing but him. He covered her, and his slayer wore his magic like armor. Let Sabrina see whatever she wanted of the Watcher, because it would not help her fight the Slayer.

The Slayer is the instrument; the Council is the hand. She is the sword; he is the shield she carries into battle. He understood now his place, the instinct he had felt from the beginning to be always at her side, even against the Council's orders, even against their protestations that he felt too deeply, that he had lost all objectivity. At what point had they _stopped_ feeling, had they tried to deny this pull that was at the very core of the watchers' blood they had so carefully bred into him? Surely it had been after Camela, because he saw it in the Beast's fury, even from this distance, that _this_ was how the great sorceress Camela had fallen when even an army could not stop her. When the Numidian armies had lain dead on the ground before her, it had been a slayer who had come to put the sword through her belly. A Slayer and her Watcher.

And this was why the Beast had destroyed the Council, the potential slayers, and had tried to turn the next slayer into an instrument of darkness. _And we shall defeat them with their own power_. This was the vengeance she had sworn.

The Beast bellowed in rage and fought the Slayer hand-to-hand, losing ground now she could no longer see each blow coming, could no longer slip past each block, could no longer see anything but him and his magic. They tumbled across the sand, his slayer still struggling against an evenly matched foe, but no longer on the defensive.

They came apart, and Sabrina reached for Camela's sword. He heard her voice in his head: _Your blood will wet this sword before the night is finished, Watcher. You and your slayer will be the first of my new tally. And at the next crescent moon, I will have the power I was promised. Your daughter, your son, all who you hold dear will die in her name._

Giles laughed, because he could see Buffy reaching for her own sword, and he knew by his unwavering faith in his slayer that Sabrina would eat those words.

But she foresaw Buffy's advance in his mind and was ready for it. The clash of their swords rang out across the night air, and for a moment, Buffy was beaten back by the Beast's fury. Giles knew, from long hours of practice, how his slayer fought, what her next move might be. He had trained her in swordplay, and she had learned most of her moves from him. It was his job to notice her weaknesses, to find the holes in her defense. And so Sabrina saw all of that in his mind.

She could not see Buffy's attack coming, but she could fight the Slayer with the knowledge of the Watcher.

The Beast landed a blow, and Giles felt it. He took his slayer's pain so it would not distract her from battle, though it was still her arm which bore the gash. But cloaked in his magic, her slayer healing was amplified, and he saw his own surprise reflected in her eyes when the cut closed mere moments after spilling blood.

Sabrina's mocking voice again rang through his head, gloating that she had found a way past his spell, that she could still see the Slayer's weaknesses reflected in the Watcher's eyes. _It will be written in the annals of history that today was the day that the last Watcher and the last Slayer fell._

The Last Watcher reached out to his Slayer, projecting his thoughts once more into her mind: _Fight her as if she were me, Buffy. Take her down in less than five minutes._

Their swords met again, and this time Buffy was driving the Beast back. Thrust and parry, deflect and strike. Buffy knew how Giles fought, what he would expect of her, and she used that knowledge against Sabrina. For once, her offensive strikes were clean and subtle, giving the Beast no clue where the next might land. Even Giles himself could not see his slayer's future assaults telegraphed in her movements. There were some tactics he had never even seen before. Perhaps Angel had taught them to her all those years ago. Perhaps they simply flowed from her gift for improvisation. He smiled at the memory of her more unorthodox battles: staking a vampire with a carousel unicorn's horn, beheading one with a cymbal, dusting another with a pool cue, fighting with the number-two pencil she had handy while studying for the SAT's.

He let his thoughts wander, knowing they would only distract Sabrina further. Buffy landed another blow, and then another. A clean cut to the forearm and then to the hand, and Sabrina was disarmed. The sword of Camela hit the sand, and still the Beast was forced back. A clever and athletic combination of sword swing and leg sweep brought her to her knees. Never one to resist the chance for a pun or a cutting insult before delivering the fatal blow, Buffy smiled and taunted, "Know what I'm thinking now?"

She sliced Sabrina's head from her shoulders.

"Didn't think so."

Sabrina's head landed in the sand with a thud, and her torso tilted sideways until it too followed. The short brunette waves shimmered, her open, unseeing eyes darkening as the guise of Camela melted from the Beast's dead form. Lying on the sand before Buffy was the great head of the Mortog beast: its horned, furred, demon monstrosity staring up at her, its body laying unmoving beside it and leaking prodigious amounts of slimy, green, demon blood. Ick. Slaying cleanup was always Buffy's least favorite part.

She let her own sword drop on the ground beside her and turned to gaze up at the cliffs above her. Giles smiled back at her, knowing she would sense it even from this distance. Then he allowed the cloak of his magic to fall from his slayer and let the exhaustion of the last hour bring him to his knees.

Battle over. And together they had won.

Next: Part 11: A New Beginning


	11. New Beginnings

ORIGINALLY POSTED: March 19, 2002  
TITLE: The Family Business  
AUTHOR: JK Philips  
RATING: R (little blurry watercolor detailed sex)  
SUMMARY: After the events of The Ticking Clock, Buffy and Giles are still looking for their  
daughter. Can they save her from a terrible fate?  
SPOILERS: Everything up to "The Gift"  
DISCLAIMER: I do not own these characters; they are the property of Joss Whedon,  
Mutant Enemy & Fox. I simply am doing this for fun, and non-profit use.

* * *

Part 11: A New Beginning

After Xander assured her for the third time that the twins were just fine, Buffy left him and Spike in charge of cleanup. They didn't have a whole lot to take care of, not like when they'd had to burn that nest of dead four-eyed demon things, four-eyed in the literal sense of having four eyes and not in the sense of wearing really dorky glasses. Hauling all those demon bodies onto the bonfire had taken most of the night, not to mention ruined one of her favorite halter tops, and the smell was definitely something she would like to forget. This time there was just the body of the Mortog beast. The rest of the cleanup involved taking care of the casualties, something else the gang had much experience with. There was the body of the witch the snipers had shot off the cliff, the one witch who'd taken a crossbow bolt to her side, and the three unconscious witches Buffy had knocked out, who should all probably make the trip to the hospital along with their bleeding comrade.

The fourth witch, the young runaway who had cleared out of Dodge posthaste, was nowhere to be seen. The seven who were left of the circle were only too happy to help after they got a good look at Sabrina's true form. They were already muttering about being under a spell, something Buffy truly doubted, but sometimes there were certain lies that could be negotiated and agreed upon to make things easier for everyone involved. The vampires that weren't scattered as fine as the grains of sand lying across the beach had already made a hasty retreat when they saw their boss incinerated by the power of Camela's sword. And Morgaine had thoughtfully allowed herself to be consumed by the bolt of lightning that had culminated the ritual, leaving no messy cleanup for them after. That accounted for everyone but two.

Buffy's parting words to Xander were: "Find Faith and Willow" before she set off to meet Giles halfway.

He had just finished climbing down the cliff side when she first saw him. Either that or he had finished a little while before and was now resting. He looked tired. There were fine cuts across his face and hands, a nasty bruise coloring his temple, and a gash just above his collarbone that was slowly turning his shirt red. He smiled when he saw her, and she walked faster until she was practically running the remaining distance between them.

He grunted softly as she claimed him in a crushing hug, which was quickly followed by a passionate and desperate kiss.

"Don't ever freak me out like that again!" she chastised him through her tears. "You don't know how scared I was that you'd never wake up."

He continued smiling at her fondly, and as she looked into his green eyes, she was reminded all over again of everything that she had almost lost. She started to cry in earnest, and he passed her his handkerchief. For some reason, that made everything feel right again.

"I missed you," he told her, as he reached out one hand to run his fingers through her hair. "I missed you more than you can imagine."

"Let's go home."

His knees started to buckle, but she caught him before he could fall and held him upright. She laughed. "You're a little wobbly. How'd you manage to get up there without breaking your neck?"

He followed her gaze up the side of the cliff, a more gradual climb than the sheer drop by the beach, but a definite climb nonetheless. "Adrenaline is an amazing thing. I should think the climb down after was the more impressive feat."

"Will you make it back to the car, or will I have to carry you?"

He laughed, too, a breathy release of the last weeks' tension. "Heavens, no. That would be devastating to my ego." He swayed slightly, and she clutched him tighter to prevent him falling. "Although I wouldn't be averse to leaning on you a bit. I'm afraid the last few hours of spell casting and mountain climbing are more than my body's been accustomed to lately."

"Lean on me all you like, Watcher-mine." She kissed him again, a softer, more tender kiss than the one before. She released him only reluctantly. "The twins?" she asked hopefully.

"To the best of my knowledge, they are both safe with Anya."

That earned him a smile and another kiss. She ruffled his hair playfully as they pulled apart, and he scowled at her. "Hey, you should thank me," she scolded as they started back to the car, his arm slung across her shoulders to steady his balance.

"What for?"

"The twins were this close-" She illustrated by holding up her first finger and thumb with only a sliver of light between them. "-to testing out their rainbow assortment of magic markers on your face. Alex thought you might like to have your face painted. Spike would have let them, too, if I hadn't caught them. Actually, I suspect it might have been his idea."

"Hmmm…" Giles mused. "Then I suppose I can consider us even for him saving my life."

Buffy groaned. "No. I think Spike'll hold that over our heads for a _long_ time." They both chuckled softly before Buffy urged him into a faster pace. "C'mon, Gimp Boy. With any luck, Xander'll have found Willow and Faith by the time we get to the car."

The smile left Giles' face at the mention of Willow, and he averted his eyes from her questioning gaze. Buffy lapsed into silence then, not wanting to ask, not wanting to know. Soon they passed through the forest, the barrier along its perimeter now fallen without the coven holding it in place. Just at the rise of the hill, they could see the convertible parked on the shoulder of the road, Anya and Xander standing beside it.

"Why is Xander wearing Spike's coat?" Giles asked.

"I've been wondering the same thing myself," Buffy answered, thankful for the momentary distraction from her downward spiraling thoughts.

But the distraction was only momentary, for her heart soon began to beat faster when she noticed the conspicuous absence of any enthusiastic greetings from the children. She picked up her pace, feeling the matching tension through Giles' arm where it rested against her shoulder.

Their distress must have been obvious, because Anya's first words when they reached the car were: "The twins are sleeping."

"Sleeping?"

Anya sighed. "Well they are very young, and it is quite late, and… well, I sang to them a little."

"_You_ sang?" Giles echoed in disbelief.

She seemed offended. "I'm not totally tone deaf, you know. And I've been practicing." She stroked her pregnant belly fondly. "Lullabies are a proven method for soothing crying babies."

Buffy peeked in the backseat, where sure enough, both children were curled up together, sound asleep.

The minivan screeched to a stop beside them a moment later, Spike behind the wheel and some of Sabrina's coven in the back. "We going or what?" he called out.

"Buffy," Xander murmured softly. That was when she noticed for the first time that her friend had been crying. She dreaded his next words, knowing that in the end the responsibility would rest with her. She had been the one to send Faith. Xander stared at the ground, forcing the words out in one breath: "Willow's hurt. She's hurt bad."

Buffy closed her eyes, the weight of those words sinking like a rock to the bottom of her stomach. What had she thought would come of sending Faith after her friend? She had thought to avoid fighting that battle herself, that's what.

Giles squeezed her shoulder gently, to offer what support he could. "She fell over the edge, Buffy. Faith tried to catch her, but…" He leaned closer and whispered softly beside her ear for only her to hear, "We all did what we had to do. She left us no choice."

It was a valiant try, but Buffy's conscience wasn't soothed.

Spike was either blind or didn't care about the somber mood around him. Probably the latter. "Come on, already. I ain't listening to no whining from you lot if she up and dies on you while you're dilly-dallying around here." He honked his horn to punctuate his haste.

Anya jumped in to explain. "Faith called from the hospital while you were all still on the beach. She took Willow to UCLA Medical Center."

"Right, let's go," Xander replied numbly, climbing in the car with Anya and letting her drive for now.

Buffy started for the minivan, her arm still looped around Giles' waist to keep him upright. He stopped a few steps short of the side door. "I think I'd rather ride with Anya and Xander."

"Don't be silly. The twins are in the backseat. You won't fit." She studied him thoughtfully for a moment: his face was pale, worry lines drawn across his brow, and the tension through his shoulders and down his back was making his muscles tremble beneath her fingers. "Giles, are you okay?"

He swallowed and nodded, but she wasn't convinced.

"You know, you're probably right," she began, trying to offer him a way to save face. "One of us should ride in the car, in case the kids wake up on the way there."

"Right, right," he agreed enthusiastically, and Xander was quickly demoted to the minivan to make room for Giles.

Buffy sat in the passenger seat beside Spike, watching the convertible just in front of them. Giles had put the top down before they'd even pulled away from the shoulder.

"Spike, is Giles okay?" she asked the vampire softly.

"Sure. Sanity's overrated anyways," he replied with a casual shrug.

"Spike!"

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, and his expression softened slightly. He sighed and answered her sincerely this time. "I'm pretty sure he's a touch claustrophobic now. Easily distracted. Likely to startle if you touch him unexpected. Short temper. A little unsteady on his feet."

Buffy bowed her head, overwhelmed by that litany. The battle was over, and they had won. Why couldn't things just go back to normal now?

"It wasn't just the spell," Spike continued. "Sabrina messed with him while he was trapped. In fact, he mistook me for her when I first got inside his head. Wouldn't say exactly what went on, but I imagine she played some pretty sick games with him."

She stifled a sob with her hand, not wanting to think about it anymore than she had wanted to think about his torture at Angelus' hands.

Spike did something then that she would have never expected. He reached across and took her hand, holding it gently until she had composed herself again. His eyes left the road for a moment to look at her. Buffy had never imagined that she would see true compassion reflected in his eyes. He had been kind to her during her mother's illness, and then after her mother's death while trying to protect Dawn from Glory, and again in the last week and a half while practically living at their house and searching for a cure for Giles. But in the back of her mind, Buffy had always considered those kindnesses to be motivated by an ulterior motive, namely his big ole crush on her.

Now for the first time, she could believe that it was compassion in his eyes and nothing more.

She shook her head and looked out her window. "Wish I could put Sabrina's head back on and lop it off again," she muttered bitterly.

Spike chuckled and squeezed her hand before letting go and placing both hands on the steering wheel. He shifted in his seat and stole another glance in her direction. "Don't fret about it too much. Just give him some time to adjust to being back. I'm sure he'll be fine before you know it. Although," he added thoughtfully, "he's likely to try and go on with the training and research right away like nothin' happened. You might have to make him take that time."

She smiled bravely, comforted and amused by Spike's words. "How do you know my watcher so well?"

He was quiet for a moment, his mood darkening, and she wondered what she had said to upset him. "I know you all better than you think," he finally answered. "Been standing on the outside, watching you all for years." And then he leaned forward to turn on the radio and tune her out.

They pulled up to the emergency entrance for the Harbor-UCLA Medical Center less than ten minutes later. Buffy's stomach was already churning with nerves, and Xander never looked at her as they all climbed out of their vehicles. He didn't really look at anything but the ground. She had never seen him so subdued.

First, they got the attention of one of the staff, who was lounging in the ambulance bay on a cigarette break. She brought gurneys and doctors for their four wounded, and the rest of the coven stayed with their friends. Spike didn't wait to be asked before leaving to park the van. Anya looked torn between doing the same and staying with Xander. Giles' offer to park the car himself decided her, and she made it very clear that she doubted his ability to do so in his current condition, before she pulled away from the curb.

Giles and Buffy were left standing by the emergency doors, holding a sleeping child each.

They followed Xander inside, Buffy making a brief detour to snag a wheelchair for Giles.

"I rather think not," he huffed as he walked past her.

Buffy could see that he was limping, that even Robin's light weight was tiring him, as he constantly shifted the girl in his arms. "Stubborn fool," she muttered.

"Nag," he retorted with a small smirk.

The admissions nurse directed them to the surgical waiting area, where they found Faith waiting for them.

"B!" She rushed over to them, her words tumbling out in a rush. "I tried to catch her. I didn't mean for this to happen. I was just going to knock her out, but she charged me, and went over, and I barely had hold of her."

"It's okay, Faith. I get it."

Faith looked relieved and took a deep breath. Xander had already dropped into a waiting room chair, still staring at the ground. Giles had taken up a seat beside him, Robin snuggled contentedly against his chest.

Buffy licked her lips and braced herself for whatever answer Faith would give her. No point in delaying the inevitable. "How is she?"

Faith shrugged. "Alive. Wouldn't surprise me if they had her in a full body cast, though. She was busted up pretty good. I got her here quick as I could. Stole one of the vamp's limos. Might as well go in style, huh?"

An awkward silence grew between them. Buffy was thinking of her own failures, was replaying the evening's battle a hundred different ways that didn't end with Willow here. She wasn't sure what Faith was thinking. Faith probably had plenty of her own regrets to stew over.

"So give me the highlights," the other slayer demanded. "Was Giles right about the sword? Did it turn Sabrina into a crispy critter?"

"Yes and no. He was right about the sword. But it was the head vampire lawyer who got toasted. Sabrina was actually a demon, the Mortog beast, who had inherited a bit of magic and shapeshifting from the witch who made the sword. But Giles and I beat her. Beheaded her."

"Cool."

Anya joined them then, sitting down on Xander's other side. He leaned his head against her shoulder, and she wrapped her arm around him. Buffy ached for her friend. As much as all of them cared for Willow, he was her best friend. They had known each other as children, had been inseparable for most of their lives. If anything happened to her, it would crush him.

"Can I get anyone anything?" Faith offered generously. "Food run? Coffee run?"

No one seemed very interested in food or coffee.

"Maybe you could find Alex some dry clothes? Blankets or something?" Buffy requested, knowing Faith needed something to make herself feel useful. Hell, they all wanted to feel useful. "Xander looks a bit shivery too."

Faith bounced off, and Buffy took a seat beside her watcher. Sitting four in a row, they all stared at the doors to surgery, as if they could will the doctor to come out and tell them everything would be fine. She leaned up against Giles, and he shifted Robin to one knee before wrapping his arm around Buffy in a matching pose to Anya.

He kissed her temple and whispered again for her ears only, "She left us no choice. We did what we had to do."

"Then how come I feel so rotten?"

Faith returned soon after with a nurse, who brought them blankets, a t-shirt that was way too big for Alex, and scrubs for Xander. Anya had to coax him into going into the bathroom to change, promising that she would come straight in there, naked men or not, if there was any news.

Alex hardly woke as Buffy stripped off his wet clothes right there in the middle of the waiting room. He yawned and blinked bleary eyes at her as he obediently held his arms out to slide in the sleeves. The hem of the shirt came down past his knees. She bundled him up in a blanket and handed him over to his father's lap, partly to give herself the freedom to pace and partly to keep his father seated in his chair, pinned as he now was by a child on each knee.

Alex yawned wider. "Daddy no s'eep. Never ever 'gain," he insisted as he cuddled up close.

Giles kissed the boy on his forehead and smiled. "A rather difficult promise to keep, son. But I shan't ever sleep for so long again. Will that do?"

Their son nodded and laid his head against Giles' shoulder. He noticed then the circle of blood sticking his father's shirt to his skin. "Owie," he said, pointing to the spot. He kissed his fingers and touched them to his father's wound.

"Ah, now it is all better," Giles said, but Alex's eyes were already closing, and he was asleep in the next moment.

The doors to the OR opened, and everyone jumped to attention, but it was a doctor for someone else waiting in chairs on the other side of the room. Buffy resumed her pacing. Xander came out of the bathroom and modeled his scrubs, still wearing Spike's coat over them. She wondered then where Spike was, and Anya guessed that he had gone back to the beach to take care of the body of the Mortog beast.

"Yeah," Buffy said with a sigh. "I don't suppose waiting in hospitals is really his thing."

"He did it for you," Giles responded absently.

"Huh?"

He looked up then, as if surprised that she had heard him. "When you were in the hospital, he waited with me. Quiet, in the background. I guess it was easy to forget he was there."

Buffy finally stopped pacing and plopped down in a chair facing the others, with her back to surgery. The waiting was driving her mad. She remembered her mother's surgery: the long hours of sitting in uncomfortable chairs, not knowing if her mother would be okay, and feeling completely helpless. Faith joined her, sitting quietly beside her for several minutes before finding the nerve to speak.

"I'm sorry Willow got hurt. Really, I am."

Buffy only nodded.

"I'm sorry about… you know, all the other stuff, too."

"Yeah."

Faith nudged her gently. "If it'll count for anything, I'll let you be the cop to bring me in."

A small smile played across Buffy's lips. "I'll probably get a medal for it. Maybe even a promotion."

"You'll tell them I turned myself in, though, right?"

Buffy turned to study her fellow slayer, to see the sincere regret in her eyes, to know for certain that Faith had found her way out of the darkness. "I'll tell them you saved my life. You did, you know."

Faith looked away and tapped her fingers on the arm of her chair. She and her tough guy exterior, couldn't give anyone the impression that there might be a soft side underneath. After a moment, she regained her composure and met Buffy's eyes again. She said it nonchalantly, "So, B, we cool here?"

"We're five by five, Faith."

The other slayer accepted that and abandoned her chair for the drinking fountain on the opposite wall.

It was another hour before a doctor came out of surgery to brief them. Xander was out of his chair before Buffy had noticed the doctor's presence.

"She's going to be fine," he told them.

Everyone cheered, and hugs were exchanged. Faith waited on the edge of the group, but even she was smiling. The doctor continued to brief them on her injuries, what they had done for her in surgery, what they could expect for her recovery, but Buffy heard none of it. The doctor's first words were on repeat inside her head: _She's going to be fine. She's going to be fine._ Until now, she'd been hearing a very different version inside her head. She'd imagined the doctor telling them Willow was dead, imagined a dozen different ways for him to tell them.

She began to relax for the first time in weeks.

"Can we see her?" Giles asked the doctor.

"She's in recovery right now." He seemed to consider their request. "Are you family?"

"Yes," Xander answered without hesitation.

"I suppose one visitor, but make it brief. The nurse will take you in." He nodded towards the young woman shadowing him and then left.

Xander moved to follow the woman, but Giles stopped him with a hand around his wrist, juggling the twins in his lap so he could sit forward in his chair. "Xander, I know you very much want to see Willow. I wouldn't ask you this if it wasn't important. But I need to be the one to go in tonight. Please."

Xander stared at the doors leading to surgery and recovery. The conflict was evident in his face.

"The doctor said she would be fine, and you will more than likely be able to see her tomorrow."

Xander looked deep into Giles' eyes, perhaps trying to determine the seriousness of his request, before finally taking Alex from his arms and agreeing to let Giles go first. Buffy took Robin, and Giles gave Xander a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder before following the nurse back through the swinging doors.

Xander sat down, deflated.

"She'll be fine," Buffy reassured him. "You heard the doctor."

"Guess I just wanted to see for myself."

Buffy looped her arm through his, and Anya on his other side softly combed her fingers through his hair. Framed by two women who loved him, he relaxed back into his chair and closed his eyes.

Buffy had a sudden, terrifying thought: "Omigod! Did anyone call Dawn?"

"I called her from the car on the way here."

"Anya, you are a lifesaver."

"Here's the phone." She passed the cell over to the slayer. "You should call her and tell her Willow's going to be fine."

* * *

It was nearly morning by the time they got home. Faith was behind bars once more, and her lawyer was busy making sure no charges were pressed for her escape. According to him, Buffy's testimony on her heroic behavior and the fact that she had willingly turned herself back in were likely to weigh in her defense. Willow had yet to regain consciousness, but they were assured that someone would call them at home as soon as she had. After she was stable, they would transfer her to the hospital in Sunnydale, nearer her parents and on the list of approved facilities for Willow's health insurance. Medical bureaucrats!

Spike returned with the van and loaded up the gang, their business in LA concluded. Buffy and Giles took the convertible, glancing in the rearview mirror constantly to reassure themselves of their children's sleeping presence in the backseat. Giles tried her patience with his backseat driving. Good thing he'd never done a ride along while she was on duty. She liked to turn the sirens on and go fast.

Dawn had tried to wait up for them, but they found her asleep on the couch. Spike was allowed in, and so she woke to the sight of him smiling down on her. Buffy and Giles carried the sleeping twins upstairs and grudgingly gave the couple some privacy.

The children slept until a little past noon. Buffy napped on and off during that time. But every time she woke, she would slip out of bed in search of Giles. The first time, she found him sitting on the back porch with a cold cup of tea, staring out at nothing. She remembered what Spike had told her about startling him, so she called his name softly before approaching him.

The other times, she found him busy doing something: putting Tara's boxes back in the attic, changing the light bulb above the stove that had been burned out for months, even doing the laundry. Once, she found him sorting through the mess they'd made of his books while researching. He had his watcher's diary open in front of him, and he'd discovered the torn out pages.

"Was this really necessary?" he asked her when she sat down across from him.

"You should get some sleep."

"I'm not tired," he answered, then took his diary and went to sit on the back porch once again.

He was lying, of course. She could see how tired he was. His cuts had been tended, he'd showered and shaved, he'd changed his clothes, all in all a very different man now than the one who had climbed down the cliff after their battle. But his eyes were heavy, his shoulders slumped with exhaustion. He reminded her very much of their son, desperately trying to keep himself busy so he wouldn't fall asleep.

When the children woke, they provided their father with some much-needed distraction. Buffy went back to bed. If Giles wasn't going to get any sleep, then she would.

They ordered pizza for dinner, rented movies, and spent the evening as if everything was back to normal. Spike was the new addition to that scenario, sitting on the couch beside Dawn, but even he fit in as if he had always been there.

They tucked the children into their parents' bed that night, Robin not willing to lie down until Giles had lain down beside her. But as soon as the children had fallen asleep, he climbed out of bed and disappeared downstairs. Buffy sighed and wrapped her arms tighter around her sleeping son. Spike said Giles needed time, and so she wouldn't push him for now. She closed her eyes and slept, still catching up on all the rest she had missed during their last weeks' ordeal.

Buffy woke at almost three in the morning. It shouldn't have surprised her, really; she'd slept for half the day.

She tiptoed down the stairs and found him as she had on so many nights before: asleep in the armchair, his neck crooked at an uncomfortable angle, his glasses askew on his face, his lap and the floor around him littered with open books, the desk lamp still lit, although this time he had also carelessly forgotten to turn off the lights in the foyer and dining room as well.

She carefully removed the books from his lap and took their place. He stirred when he felt her weight in his lap, and when he opened his eyes, her arms were wrapped around his neck.

"Don't you ever get tired of falling asleep in uncomfortable places?" she teased. "The couch at least won't make your neck sore tomorrow."

His eyes were guarded, and she could feel the tension in his neck and shoulders where her hands rested.

"Giles?"

He looked away, the tension still coiled in his body. Then it hit her all at once: he thought he was still there, thought she was _her_.

"Giles, it's me, Buffy, your slayer." She attempted to adjust his glasses on the bridge of his nose, and he flinched back from her touch. "Spike pulled you out, remember? Big battle? We won? Score one for the home team?" She sighed and laid her head against his chest. "You're home now. Whatever happened to you with that spell, it's over."

She didn't try to press him any further, just waited him out, holding him in a loving and gentle embrace. After a few minutes, he began to relax in her arms. She heard his heart rate slow to normal, watched his chest as his breathing deepened, and finally felt his soft touch as he combed his fingers through her hair.

"I'm sorry, Buffy."

"It's okay." She nestled more comfortably in his embrace. "Come up to bed now. Enjoy the wonders of a soft mattress."

He tensed again, and she sat up to look into his eyes. She reached out one hand to trace her fingers along the curve of his cheek. "I get it, Giles. You know, if you're not so fond of beds right now, you can just say so."

He smiled weakly and dropped his gaze to the floor.

She laid her head back down against his chest. They were quiet for several moments. "You know the couch is very un-bedlike," she offered finally. She felt him kiss the top of her head.

"It's only partly the bed. It's mostly the closing my eyes and sleeping that I seem to find worrisome." He sighed and removed his glasses, rubbing at his eyes, before tossing his frames onto the side table. "It's humiliating, really, that such a little thing should bother me so much. That I can't even get in the blasted car without feeling as if I might have a panic attack. And it's not exactly like I can just stop sleeping."

"Hence the massive research session." She leaned over, far enough that she nearly toppled from the chair, and retrieved a couple books from the floor. "What big evil are we fighting now?" She read the titles with a puzzled frown. "'The Complete Works of Edgar Allen Poe'? 'A Tale of Two Cities'? Did some librarian get vamped into the newest big bad or something?"

He snatched the volumes from her hands and placed them on the side table beside his glasses. "I do happen, on occasion, to read books that have nothing to do with demons or prophecy."

Buffy mentally counted the stacks of books surrounding them. "Okay, so you're catching up on your fun reading." She fetched another older and thicker volume from the ground. "'Les Miserables.' Hey, Dawn and I saw this musical." She flipped through the pages and made a face. "It's in French."

He took that book from her as well. "Yes, that is how it was written," he replied dryly.

"I have traumatic memories of high school French class. I've repressed the whole language." She studied him with a serious frown. He was still trying to be all stiff-upper-lippy, hold-it-all-in guy. "Come on, Giles, give. What's with the lit refresher course?"

He closed his eyes and sighed. Buffy recognized the look of resignation on his face; she had seen it many times. He rarely failed to give in to her eventually.

"Where I was… those eleven days, I believe Dawn said?" She nodded and indicated that he should continue. "There was nothing, Buffy. It was utterly black and silent. Sabrina made brief… visits… on occasion, but other than that, there was nothing to keep me occupied. I recited what I could remember of different things, just to pass the time. I suppose I wanted to see how accurately I remembered it, now that I'm back."

"I bet you nailed it, huh?"

He smirked slightly. "Would that be boasting?"

"Nah." She looped her arms around his neck. "I have an idea. How 'bout we both lie down together on the couch. No sleeping," she added when he opened his mouth to protest. "Just get comfy, and I can help with your lit research. I can read to you."

He chuckled then. "I'm not a child, Buffy, who needs to be read to in order to fall asleep."

She slid from his lap and padded over to the couch, book in hand. "I believe I said no sleeping. Besides, everyone should be read to every now and then, even bookworm watchers. C'mere."

He obeyed reluctantly, stretching out on the couch and taking her into his arms. She cracked open the book and began: "'It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…' Hmm… That pretty much sounds like our life, doesn't it?" He smiled, and then yawned. She smiled back at him knowingly and continued. "'It was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness…' Yeah, that pretty much sums up my life. 'It was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity-"

His fingers began rhythmically combing through her hair. "Buffy?"

"Yeah?"

"If I happen to break the no sleeping rule, will you… will you keep reading?"

She turned and kissed him on the cheek. "Sure, but if you fall asleep, I'm going to start changing stuff around, spice it up a bit. I think we need a car chase in here somewhere, maybe a few explosions."

He groaned. "Dickens would turn in his grave."

"Just as long as he doesn't rise from it. Now, where were we? Oh, yeah… Life was good and it really sucked, we were smart and also dumb…"

He chuckled softly and slid one arm around her waist. She settled back against his chest, enjoying the soft caresses his fingers started to trail across her bare arms. She had missed him like the other half of herself. If their battle with Sabrina had taught her anything, it was that he was exactly that. Her watcher, her husband, her other half. She continued reading, listening to his breathing and waiting for him to fall asleep.

* * *

Giles was feeling much better in the morning, well enough for a day at the shop, despite Buffy's protestations. They couldn't keep the world on pause, after all. He'd been absent from the shop for nearly two weeks now, and Buffy needed to return to work as well. If anything, it would keep all their minds off of Willow.

She had regained consciousness, but her parents were the only visitors she was permitted for the time being. She would be transferred to Sunnydale tomorrow, and then they would all be allowed to visit. Buffy and Xander were eager to see their friend, to repair the breaks in their relationships, but Giles wondered sadly if Willow would be as eager to see them.

He had spoken to his friend John earlier, slightly embarrassed to have forgotten him amidst all the recent events. John was surprised and delighted to hear from him, although he couldn't talk long, as April's hospital room was full of their children and friends, and far too noisy for decent conversation. But April was thankfully recovering nicely, and Giles promised to visit tomorrow when they came to see Willow.

The shop seemed unaffected by his absence. Anya had done very well without him, and Giles skimmed over the receipts happily. Now they had found Robin, there would be no more detectives' fees, no more lawyers' fees. If the shop continued to prosper, they might even be able to pay off its mortgage ahead of schedule.

Those were the thoughts that were uppermost in his mind when the bell over the front door rang. He glanced up to see who their new customer was, if it was perhaps one of their regulars. A man in a charcoal three piece suit surveyed the store with an icy stare, adjusting his grip on a briefcase as he stepped down into the main shop area.

Giles came around the counter to greet him, Robin following him like the little shadow he remembered. "Can I help you?"

"Are you Mr. Rupert Giles?" The man owned a refined, upper-class, British accent, which would have usually screamed Watcher, except that they were all dead.

"Yes."

The man's eyes lingered on Anya, intently pricing their new shipment, and then landed on Robin, standing by her father's side. He unbuttoned his jacket and smoothed down the line of his tie before addressing Giles again. "May we speak somewhere in private?"

Giles glanced over at Anya, who was staring back at him with the same curious expression. "Will you watch the children for a moment?"

"Sure. Alex is my little helper over here. He's pretty good with the price gun, although I have to keep reminding him that we only need one tag per talisman."

Alex peeked out from behind the counter and held up the price gun proudly. He had some price tags stuck to assorted parts of his body as well. "I help," he informed his father solemnly.

"Yes," his father replied, equally solemn. "I'm sure you are a big help to Anya." He steered Robin over to join them. "Perhaps you can teach Robin how to use the price gun."

Neither twin seemed happy with that idea.

"Do self," Alex pouted, hugging his toy to his chest.

"Stay wif you," Robin begged, clinging tightly to his hand.

Giles knelt on the floor in front of her. He was loathe to cause her more trauma after the last days' events. He should be thankful she hadn't regressed back to silence or needing him to carry her everywhere. But even so, she must learn that she couldn't be at his side every minute of every day, that there were other people in her life she could trust too.

"I'll be right in that room there if you need me. And Anya is here. I won't be long. Can you stay out here for just a little bit while I talk to this man?"

She focused on him with her wide, blue eyes as she considered his words. Finally she nodded.

"Good girl." He tapped his finger beneath her chin before raising himself to his feet. "Share with your sister," he warned Alex sternly before turning to face their mysterious visitor. The man seemed irritated by the delay sorting out the children had caused. Oh well, Giles was hardly going to be brisk with his own children for the sake of this man's convenience. "My office," he said, leading the way into the small side office. Normally, he would speak with people in the larger back training room, but not knowing who this man was or what he wanted, Giles wasn't sure that he wouldn't find a roomful of weaponry a tad alarming.

The man lifted his briefcase to set it on the desk, stopping short when faced with an array of Legos and matchbox cars. The side office tended to serve as the children's play area more than anything, and their toys cluttered every surface. Giles quickly swept the offending items to one side to make room.

"My name is Andrew Ludgate," he said as he set the briefcase on the desk and clicked open the two locks. "I represent the firm of Cole, Oldham, and Watkins. The C.O.W. has sent me here"

"C.O.W.?" Giles interrupted.

Ludgate smiled stiffly. "The Council did have their fingers in everything, didn't they? But I am not technically involved with them. Cole, Oldham, and Watkins are more what you might consider affiliates to the Council. So I am not truly a watcher, if that was what you were wondering." The lawyer turned and sized up Giles with a penetrating stare. "No, it would appear, in fact, that _you_ are the last watcher. And that is why I was sent. We have some business to discuss, Mr. Giles. Council affairs to be put in order."

"What sort of affairs?"

Ludgate flipped open his briefcase with a flair for the overdramatic. "Why, everything. You are, for all intents and purposes, the Council now, Mr. Giles. There are some decisions you need to make regarding the direction you would like to take this organization. And dare I say, some recruitment strategies would not go amiss at the moment."

Giles held out his hand to stop any further discussion. He took a seat on the desk, jumping up momentarily to remove Alex's double nine domino from beneath him before sitting back down. He removed his glasses and rubbed his forehead for a moment in thought. "Mr. Ludgate, I am hardly in a position to act as the Council. I don't have the resources. Frankly, I don't know that I have the desire."

Ludgate removed several papers from the briefcase. "I cannot speak to the latter, but as far as resources, you have the Council's assets at your disposal. Perhaps we should start with the Council's current fiscal status." He handed over the papers in his hand. "These are the current bank balances from the Council's various accounts, the majority held in England, Switzerland, and Austria. Although, there are some in the States, India, and other scattered accounts you'll find listed on page ten."

Giles replaced his glasses and scanned over the papers in his hands, mentally adding the columns together. There was some kind of misprint. There couldn't possibly be this many zeros. The paper started to tremble in his shaking hands. "Dear Lord. This is more money… well, more than a small nation, I would imagine."

Ludgate laughed heartily. "Oh, far more than that. Those are only the liquid assets. All told, you are now worth more than the entire British treasury… and that of a small nation or two as well, I imagine. I bit of advice, if I may?"

"Yes, please," Giles breathed, still numb.

"I am not a watcher, but our firm has served the Council for… well, honestly our firm was probably established to serve the Council. If I were you, the first thing I would invest that money in is acquiring a few alchemists. No point in touching the principal if you can continue to pay for your expenses through magic." He drew out some more papers and began arranging them on the modest amount of space the small desk afforded. He pulled a pen from the front pocket of his three piece suit and clicked it open. "Now, if you will, Mr. Giles, there is some paperwork that needs to be attended to in order to make this inheritance final. Cole, Oldham, and Watkins will, of course, be more than happy to manage your estate as we have done for the Council for centuries. However, if you would prefer to hire on a law firm of your own choosing-?"

"No, no, that won't be necessary," Giles insisted, still staring in shock at the paper in his hands, as if some of the zeros might just fall off before his very eyes.

"Well then, shall we begin with the line of succession? I assume you shall want your son to follow as head of the Council after your death?"

Giles looked away from the paper in hands for the first time since it was handed to him. Ludgate was watching him intently, and Giles could only stare back blankly.

The lawyer raised one questioning brow. "Or perhaps there is another you would like to name as your direct successor?"

Giles' mouth was dry. There was really no one else.

* * *

Lilah Morgan leaned forward and hit the page button for her secretary. "Kelly, get me Richard Zalk on the phone." She gave her visitor an annoyed once over. "Well?"

The tall, skinny vampire shifted self-consciously in place. "We had a deal."

"Yeah, you should have gotten it in writing. You used to work here. You should know that." She made a small shooing motion with her hands. "Now get lost. Frankly, I didn't like you all that much when you were alive."

He glowered at her, but obediently turned and left. Jeeze, like she would have looked twice at the mailroom clerk, dead or alive.

The door opened, and she briefly thought that Richard Zalk had gotten there very quickly. But it wasn't him; it was Nathan Reed, one of the junior partners. She jumped to her feet, quickly and respectfully, although she was somewhat disappointed that he wasn't Richard Zalk. She had really been looking forward to telling the man his son was dead. Again.

"What can I do for you, sir?"

He strolled around her office and picked up a framed picture from her shelf, one of those motivational scenes: an image of hands linked together and written below were the words, "Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed people can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has."

"I just had some interesting news, Ms. Morgan."

"It's truly a tragedy about Joseph Zalk," she replied with a straight face.

"I wasn't referring to him. Are you familiar with the Watcher's Council, Ms. Morgan?"

She smiled coyly. "I have caught some CNN footage. There's a rumor that Joseph was responsible for their sudden downsizing."

"Yes, he did have some hand in that." Nathan withdrew a manila envelope from his inside jacket pocket and handed it to her.

She opened it cautiously, pulling out two photos, recognizing the one immediately. "I know this girl. I've seen pictures of her in Angel's file. She's the slayer he ran out on back in Sunnydale."

"Very good. The man is her watcher, Mr. Rupert Giles. They're the two newest players in our game. He has now been appointed head of the Council, by virtue of being the only candidate."

She laid the pictures on the desk and reached for the phone. "Should I put a contract out on them? I think the agency we used last month is running a two-for-one special."

"No." Nathan laid his hand over hers, keeping the phone in the cradle. For a short, completely bald man, he could be very intimidating. And very creepy. "They are not to be touched."

"What?" Lilah blew out a frustrated breath. "The senior partners want Angel alive. They want these two alive. Tell me: are we planning on getting rid of _any_ of our enemies?"

"You're already aware that Angel has been prophesied to be a major player in the apocalypse."

"Yeah, yeah, I know the drill. You just don't know which side he's playing for, and you're hoping to turn him into a Company man."

Nathan casually slipped his hands into his pockets. "Our translators are logging overtime this week. The same prophesies that mention Angel also seem to refer to these two."

Lilah shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest. "You think you can turn them dark too?"

"Oh no," Nathan said with a laugh. "The prophecies are very clear on that point. When the final battle comes, they will not be on Wolfram and Hart's side. But they will affect Angel's role in that battle. The senior partners are hoping that means they can use the watcher and slayer to deliver Angel to our side."

He picked the photos up off the desk and held them out to her. "Congratulations, Ms. Morgan. We've decided to put you in charge of this operation. These two are your newest and most important project. Keep tabs on them. I want to know their plans, who they recruit, any contact they have with Angel, their friends, their family, what they have for breakfast, how many times they go to the bathroom in the middle of the night. Everything. I expect a report on my desk the first of every month."

Lilah glanced down at the photos in her hand and sighed. Her day was rapidly turning to shit. "Great. Glorified spy work. Look, but you can't touch."

"I said you couldn't mess with _them_. I never said you couldn't have some fun with their friends." Nathan turned and walked out of her office.

Lilah looked at the photos one more time before sliding them in her top drawer, only this time she was smiling. Her secretary came over the intercom and announced Richard Zalk. Lilah smiled wider. Her day wasn't turning out so badly after all.

* * *

Buffy came home from work, eager for one of Alex's enthusiastic homecomings and hopeful for some small kind of acknowledgement from Robin as well. And after the children were suitably distracted, she intended to kiss Giles senseless.

The house was dark when she walked in. "Alex? Robin?" She frowned and tossed her purse on the dining room table. Giles' car was in the driveway, so they had to be home.

She wandered through the kitchen and noticed that the back porch light was on. That seemed to be Giles' favorite place lately.

Sure enough, he was sitting on the top step, holding a cup of tea and staring out over their backyard. His tea was probably cold, but he wouldn't notice until he went to take a sip of it, whenever that might be.

"Giles?"

She sat down beside him, careful not to crowd his space. The sun was just beginning to set, the sky turning orange, the light dimming, the porch light seeming to brighten in the growing darkness, and the shadows stretching father across the ground. He still didn't seem to notice her presence. Good thing it wasn't completely dark yet, or a vampire could have easily happened by and made him a snack.

"Giles!" she said a little louder.

He turned and looked at her.

"You okay?"

He nodded and resumed his study of the trees fencing their property.

"Where are the twins?"

His answer was slow in coming, as if he were far away in thought. "Dawn took them to the park. They'll be home soon, I'm sure. She promised to have them back before dark."

"Robin too?"

"Surprisingly enough, yes. I gave her my pocket watch and showed her where the hands would be when she would see me again. A trick my mother used to use on me when I was small. It was enough to give her the courage to go to the park at least."

"You gave her your watch?" Buffy already had images of it coming home in pieces.

"Yes, although I think Alex was rather jealous. It might be time to get them both watches of their own." He took a sip of tea and frowned when he found it cold. He set it on the ground between them. "Buffy, if you could have given Travers a list of demands for the Council, what would they have been?"

She rolled her eyes at the memory of Travers, surprised to find a little sadness for his death mixed in there with all the standard irritation she associated with his memory. "For him to pull the big ole stick outta his butt."

"Buffy, I'm being serious here."

"Alright, serious." She gave it some serious thought for all of a minute. "I think I kinda did give them a list of demands when Travers showed up here with his whole entourage for my 'review.' I pretty much told them they worked for me, and they could just shove their 'review.' And in case you were wondering, those were my sarcastic air quotes. Oh," she added brightly, warming up to the memories, "I got to throw a sword at that one watcher who interrupted me. I bet he wet himself. And remember that cool part where I got you reinstated, with your salary paid retroactively?"

"Yes, and I was very grateful for that. But beyond your immediate needs for their assistance against Glory, what would you have asked of Travers?"

"I'm still thinking pulling the stick outta his butt wouldn't have been a bad idea."

Giles sighed, exasperated. "Forget about Travers. Let's make this more hypothetical. As the Slayer, how would you have liked to see things run differently? In what ways were we an asset? In what ways did we fail you?"

Buffy shrugged, having never considered the question before. "I dunno. You were always a really good watcher, Giles. And Merrick was too, even if you were both a little too stuffy at first. I guess I figured the rest of the Council was like you guys. At least until Travers showed up the first time. And then Wesley. After that, I was pretty sure you two were the only good ones outta the bunch." She looked over at him again. "Why?"

He pulled something from his pocket, a folded piece of paper he worried at with his fingers as he spoke. "I am the last watcher, Buffy. A lawyer came by the shop today with some papers. It appears that I've been given the daunting task of rebuilding the Watchers' Council."

"Oh."

"Oh, indeed." He handed her the folded piece of paper. "I've also inherited the Council's assets to assist me in that endeavor."

She unfolded the paper and couldn't contain the small gasp of surprise that escaped her lips. Her eyes widened, and she placed her hand over her chest to assure herself that her heart was still beating. "My God, Giles, we're filthy rich."

"Not we, Buffy. That is the Council's money. I have an obligation, a duty to spend it wisely."

"Wisely doesn't include that new Gucci scarf I've had my eye on, does it?"

"Probably not."

Buffy began to giggle madly. It all seemed so surreal; she couldn't quite wrap her mind around it. "Wow. You could buy out Microsoft, you know. That would be one way to move the Council into the 21st century. Oh, and anal-like watcher programmers could probably make a product that actually worked like it was supposed to."

Giles took the piece of paper back from her and slipped it in his shirt pocket again. "The lawyer suggested I begin by hiring on some alchemists."

"Are those the ones that make gold or money or whatever?"

He smiled. "Yes, very good, Buffy."

She frowned. "Why would alchemists work for anyone? I mean, can't they make all the money they want?"

"Group health insurance."

"Oh."

They sat quietly. Buffy understood now why Giles had been so out of it when she first got home. This was all so overwhelming. If Giles was even the tiniest bit of a practical joker, she would have chalked this up to one big farce.

"Give me a little time to think about it, Giles, okay? We'll figure a way to make it even better this time."

He nodded. The sun had disappeared past the horizon, and the last lingering rays of light were rapidly fading. That was the cue for the front door to bang open and two rambunctious toddlers to come barreling inside.

* * *

Willow glanced at the clock. She was getting tired. Today was the first day she was allowed visitors, and she'd had a steady stream of them: some of her parents' friends she barely knew, some parishioners from the synagogue she vaguely remembered from her childhood, and several of her friends from the sorority, who had all been uncomfortably silent. There was very little they could talk about with her parents sitting right there. It figured. The one time they actually decided to notice her existence, and she wished they were elsewhere.

Now it was just her and her mother. Her other visitors had left, and her father had returned to work to catch up on things, now that they had transferred her back to Sunnydale and he was no longer a two hour commute from the office. Watching daytime television with her mother was rapidly draining what little energy she had left, and she suspected she would need it when the last of her expected visitors arrived.

"This kind of programming is marketed towards young stay-at-home mothers; however, their children are also exposed to these messages. I was reading a recent study that showed that children of mothers who watch an average of-"

"Mom!" Willow rolled her eyes. "It's just a soap opera. It's supposed to be meaningless entertainment."

"Come now, Willow, you're a smart girl. You can't tell me the people who produce these shows don't know exactly what they're doing."

The last of her expected visitors chose that moment to walk in. Willow sat up a little straighter in bed, the best she could manage at least, with casts on both her arms and one leg, and her ribs taped tight. Her hand unconsciously went to her head to smooth her hair before she remembered that her head was all bandaged up. She only ended up knocking herself on the forehead with her cast. _Ouch_. She winced.

"Hello, Xander," her mother said brightly.

"Hi, Mrs. Rosenberg," he answered, his eyes focused on Willow, but she lacked the courage to meet his stare. She couldn't stand to see accusation, disappointment, or worst of all, forgiveness in his eyes. She didn't deserve it.

Willow noticed the conspicuous absence of the children, of Anya, of Dawn. Just Giles and Buffy and Xander standing in her hospital room. They didn't trust her. Could she blame them?

Her mother continued to make small talk. "You were a teacher at Willow's high school, weren't you? Mr. Giles, isn't it?"

"Yes," he answered with a slight nod.

"And you own that magic store now, the one Willow's always going to?" Her mother looked back at her with a triumphant smile, as if knowing a few insignificant details of her daughter's life was an accomplishment. "Willow tells me you were married recently. Congratulations."

Giles and Buffy exchanged amused smiles. Willow couldn't help one of her own. It had been over three years.

"Mom, could you see if they'd bring me more Jell-O, the strawberry kind with the marshmallows?"

"Sure, honey." She paused as she passed Willow's friends. "So nice to see you again, Bunny."

Buffy shut the door behind her.

"So how'ya feeling, Will?" Xander pulled up a chair beside her bed.

She shrugged. "You know, like a total idiot."

Xander nodded in understanding. "Ah, I have much experience with that feeling. I've learned that it's just best to accept that in this case you were a total idiot, and then skip ahead to the groveling." He pulled something from his pocket and laid it in her lap. It was one of those handheld video games he was so fond of. Yahtzee. "To while away the long hours of bedrest. Your fingers still work, right?"

She wriggled the ten digits that poked out from her casts. "Just my arms broke. Well, my arms and assorted other parts."

Buffy stepped forward with an offering of her own. "Chocolate. Comfort food. Best when eaten with friends."

Willow bit her lip not to cry. This wasn't what she had expected. She had expected them to be angry with her. After all, she had betrayed them as terribly as she had thought they betrayed her. One of her sorority friends had managed to fill her in on all the details while her mother was otherwise involved in a discussion with the other girls about the feminist repercussions of sororities. Willow knew now Sabrina's true identity. With a sick horror, she had discovered the true intent of the ritual, learned that she had almost gotten little Alex killed, and found that for the first time in her life, she had been fighting for the wrong side.

Why didn't they hate her? Buffy and Giles should at least. She'd almost cost them their son, not to mention the misery she'd inflicted on Giles.

She did start to cry then, unprepared for their kindness. "I don't deserve any of this."

"Would you rather we were mad at you?" Buffy asked, sitting on the end of her hospital bed.

"Yes."

"Well, I am," she replied. Willow saw the anger glittering in her friend's eyes, and it was what she wanted, what she deserved. Buffy continued, and Willow braced herself for the lectures and the recriminations. "You should have trusted us. You shouldn't have just cut us out of your life like that. I know things have been bad since Tara died, but you should have known that we would have helped you if you'd let us.

"But you know what? When I found out you were working with Sabrina, I wasn't mad at you, Willow. I wasn't afraid of you or what you'd do. No, the very first thing I thought, the thing that hit me right here…" She touched her chest and paused a moment to compose herself before continuing. "The thing that terrified me was the thought that I might have to hurt you to stop Sabrina. I didn't know if I could do it, Will. Even knowing what you did to Giles, knowing you had a hand in getting our kids nabbed, I didn't know if I could fight you. I love you, Willow. We all do.

"So what's the point of holding grudges? I could stay mad and you could stay guilty for the next year if we wanted, but it wouldn't do either one of us any good. Everything turned out okay, for us at least. So I, for one, would like to fix whatever's broken and just try to move forward." She met Willow's stare, love reflected in her eyes. The anger was still there as well, and the forgiveness in her words had not yet reached those blue eyes, but the love was enough for now. As long as Willow still saw love in her friend's eyes, she knew the rest would come with time.

Buffy reached out and, unable to take Willow's hand, settled for linking her fingers with the digits that poked out from Willow's cast. "You did some pretty stupid things. But I've done some way stupider things, and nine times out of ten, you were there for me after. Sometimes you said the things I needed to hear, the things I didn't really _want_ to hear, but when it came right down to it, you always stood beside me. Especially that year Angel turned. You were my rock. So I want to do the best friend thing here, or at least I really want to try. I want to be the kind of friend you always tried to be for me. The only question is if you'll let me. Do you want to be friends with all of us again? I can't make promises about how long it will take for things to be the way they were, but I want them to be. Do want that too? Do you want to be a Scooby again?"

Buffy realized what she'd just said, and her eyes got wider. "But if you don't want to do the Scooby thing, that's okay too. We can just do the friend thing."

Willow shook her head emphatically. "No, I want to be a Scooby again. I guess I kinda feel like I have a lot to make up for, now." She brushed her tears away with her fingers and smiled. Buffy smiled back, and Willow felt as good as someone could feel with half a dozen broken bones, bruises in every place that wasn't broken, and the weight of so many mistakes on her heart. Xander's arm slid around her shoulders, and she leaned closer to him, their foreheads touching.

When her eyes lifted to find Giles, he was still standing near the doorway, watching them. He would not be so easy to make peace with. She would have to do way more than detail his car to make up for all the pain and grief her spells had caused this time.

Her mother returned then with the requested Jell-O and some magazines for Willow to read. Buffy snagged some of them for herself, disappointed when they turned out to be not fashion magazines, but rather science journals the doctors were willing to loan her. Willow finally convinced her mother to make a run to her own office to catch up on some of her own work, leaving them alone once more.

They talked for an hour or more, catching Willow up on everything she had missed: finding Robin, the Council's destruction, and the murder of the other potential slayers, for which Willow knew she bore a great deal of responsibility, Sabrina's manipulations notwithstanding. The Council… the slayers… now that the fallout of her spells with Sabrina were being spelled out for her in such black and white terms, the enormity of what she had done threatened to overwhelm her.

Xander switched topics deftly, to something trivial and amusing, cracking jokes to lighten the mood. For as far back as she could remember, he had always known how to distract her from broody thoughts. In dire straits, he would sometimes resort to doing the Snoopy dance to cheer her up, even if it wasn't Christmas.

They tried to stay on non-threatening topics: various names Xander wouldn't let Anya pick for the baby, the blackmail-worthy sight of Spike on his hands and knees inside the fort Alex had built out of blankets, Buffy's struggles to keep her son in the bathtub while being simultaneously splashed by her daughter. When they finally broke down and told her about Dawn and Spike, Willow thought they were kidding at first. When she realized they weren't… she would have laughed harder, but it hurt her ribs too much.

"Hey," Buffy protested.

"I'm sorry," Willow gasped, holding her side. "It's just… Dawnie and Spike. It wouldn't be so funny if… Never mind. It'd be funny no matter what."

"Yeah," Xander seconded. "Who knew vampire fetishes ran in the family?"

She was still gasping for breath, enjoying the laughter even if it caused her a little pain. "You think your mom ever got it on with Angel?"

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Why not? She got it on with Giles." She quickly clamped her hand over her mouth. "Omigod! Did I just say that?"

But it was too late to take it back, and Willow and Xander were staring open-mouthed at Giles, who was sitting in a chair on the other side of the room, cleaning his glasses and valiantly trying to disappear into the background. The slightest hint of a blush colored his cheeks.

The three friends erupted into a fit of giggles, and Willow wrapped both her arms around her chest in an effort to hold her ribs still. The pain stabbed through her strong enough to stop her giggles and force a moan from her throat.

"Will, you okay?" Xander sat forward and touched her on the shoulder, his own giggles quickly replaced by serious concern.

She nodded, feeling for the first time as though things really would be okay in time. "Just don't make me laugh so much."

"Maybe we should go for now?" Buffy suggested. "We promised we'd visit John and April before we go home, and Dawn can only keep the twins occupied for so long, especially Robin. She's pretty clingy with Giles."

Buffy and Xander left, promising to visit again tomorrow. Giles stayed behind, saying he would catch up in a few. Willow suspected he had been waiting for the opportunity, and now it was just the two of them. Her previous good mood evaporated.

"You gonna stay on the opposite side of the room the whole time?"

"Maybe," he answered.

Silence.

"I'm _so_ sorry, Giles."

"I know."

"God, what I did to you… It must have been awful."

"It was."

She couldn't read him. He was tight, controlled, closed off. It reminded her of… Oh, God, it reminded her of how he was around Angel after… She started to cry then. She had done as bad or worse than Angelus. Worse, because she had no excuse. She'd still had her soul when she'd done all of it. "I don't know how I can ever make it up to you. I can't say sorry enough… You don't trust me anymore."

"You'll find trust is a hard thing to regain after you've betrayed it. But not impossible."

She sniffled and tried to wipe away some of her tears, but more simply spilled down after. "You came in to see me that first night, after I got out of surgery, didn't you?"

He leaned back in his chair and studied her for a moment, his face inscrutable, his eyes hard as glass. "Yes."

"The doctor told me." Her eyes dropped down to her lap. "I had kinda already figured it out myself, though. I tried to do a spell, something small. It was like a part of me already knew, and I just needed to be sure." She swallowed and closed her eyes, not knowing if she wanted to ask, not knowing what the point would be, since she already knew the answer.

She lifted her eyes and saw him watching her coolly. "You took my magic away, didn't you, Giles?"

There was only silence between them. Silence, and an intense staring contest. It was like he was waiting for something, waiting to see what she thought of losing her power. She didn't care about that. If he hadn't already taken it, she would have told him that she never planned to touch it again. She had made much the same vow after Tara, fearing that magic would only bring back painful memories of her death. Now, Willow knew the taste of power would always remind her of that battle on top of the cliffs, when she had become the monster he needed to fight.

"It's okay," she assured him. "I'm not mad at you for it."

He barked out a bitter laugh. "How bloody generous of you. You have no right to be angry with me, Willow."

"I know," she answered softly.

"You helped them cast the spell to find the potential slayers. Now, because of that, my daughter has lost the innocent parents who loved her, and whom she loved, almost died in the fire that destroyed the only home she'd ever known, and will almost certainly be called as the next slayer. She might have been anyway, but now you've sealed her fate, as it were."

Willow nodded, deeply shamed.

"Alex might have died that night on the beach. You put them both in danger. And you left me locked away in some living nightmare. There were moments that I wished you had simply killed me."

She nodded again, dazed, unable to refute any of it, nor wanting to, but needing to explain all the same. "I wish I could say I was under a spell, that someone made me do those things. Turns out Sabrina could get in our heads, but the truth is, it wouldn't have done anything if she wasn't telling me exactly what I wanted to hear. I wanted to believe her. I haven't been able to stop thinking about Tara's death. I was mad at you. I thought that maybe if you hadn't tried to keep me from learning the stronger magicks, maybe I would have known a different spell to try, maybe I could have saved her. Or maybe you could have."

Willow dropped her eyes from his scrutiny. Her voice became very soft. "I wanted to believe that it was your fault. Because as long as it was your fault, then it wasn't mine."

"It wasn't anyone's fault." His voice was equally soft. "Tara died. It isn't fair, but it happens sometimes."

She felt his fingers beneath her chin, lifting her head to look at him. He was standing beside her now, no longer entrenched on the opposite side of the room.

"Willow, one of the mistakes I've always regretted is turning my back on Ethan. We were very good friends in our youth. But then…"

"Eyghon," she finished for him.

"Yes. We both made some terrible mistakes. Afterwards, he was a mess, I was a mess, and I simply walked away from him. I've often wondered how different things would be if I had forgiven him, forgiven myself, if I had tried to mend our friendship instead of giving up on it." He slipped his hands into his pockets and focused on a spot just past her. "I miss him sometimes. I wish I could go back and do things differently, but I can't. Things have come too far, and Ethan is no longer the kind of person I could be friends with."

He focused on her once again. "All I can do now is learn from that experience. I know that I don't want to repeat it. I don't want the same thing to happen to us."

"Neither do I," she agreed, shaken by his capacity to reach past all that she had done and moved to tears that he could still care for her at all. She should have known him better; she should have known that he would never have done the things Sabrina had accused him of.

He nodded, as if that settled it. "I should leave you to your rest now." He headed towards the exit, pausing in the doorway and glancing back at her. "I didn't take your magic, Willow. No one can do that. I've just locked it away where you can't touch it."

"It's okay, Giles. You were afraid I would hurt somebody else."

He tilted his head in confirmation. "I didn't know how easy it would be to convince you of the facts after you had regained consciousness. It was safer this way." He pulled off his glasses and began cleaning him, the standard action for situations in which he was struggling to find the words. "That wasn't the only reason, though. You had almost died. You had just come out of surgery. I was afraid that if you tried anything, you might hurt yourself."

He replaced his glasses and met her gaze once more. "I'll remove the spell after you're well, and after you've earned back our trust. I should hope by then that you might demonstrate a modicum of judgment for the use of your not inconsiderable power."

He shut the door on his way out.

Willow sighed and laid her head back on her pillow. She wasn't thinking about getting her magic back. She was wondering how she could ever make things right with Giles, how it could ever be the way it was again.

* * *

When they got home, they found themselves thrust into the middle of a squabble between the children.

"He took," Robin pouted to her father, pointing at Alex. "Give me."

"Daddy say share," Alex protested, ducking behind his mother's legs.

Buffy sighed and glanced towards the living room, where Dawn, Spike, and Anya were sitting innocently. "Would the babysitting brigade care to fill us in?"

"Alex took Giles' pocket watch from Robin," Anya answered. "In his defense, she was looking at it every two minutes. It was beginning to annoy even me."

"I suggested we let 'em duke it out," Spike added. "Course no one ever listens to me."

Giles knelt on the floor, and pulled both children to stand in front of him. He held his hand out in front of Alex patiently until the boy had handed over the pocket watch. "If you're going to fight over it, then neither of you shall have it." He slipped it back in his pocket.

Anya pushed herself awkwardly to her feet, stretching and making her way over to the foyer to claim her husband. "Did you have a nice visit with Willow?"

Xander kissed her tenderly, and she smiled against his mouth. "Yeah, I feel a lot better now."

"Good. Does that mean Willow's done being evil?"

Xander sighed and closed his eyes. "An, Willow's not evil. She made some mistakes, and she's sorry."

"Oh. Does that mean I should cancel my call for vengeance?" His eyes widened in panic, and she laughed. "I'm kidding."

"Not funny," he insisted as he steered her to the door. "Bye, guys," he called out as they started down the front porch. "So no vengeance spells of any kind, right?" was the last thing they heard him say.

Spike stretched out and plopped his feet on the coffee table. "I'd get out of your hair now too, 'cept you did ask me over 'fore sunrise, and well, daylight now. Give it another couple hours, the sun'll go down, and you'll be rid of me."

"Or you could stay?" Dawn asked hopefully, glancing towards her sister as she said it. "Maybe another movie night like we had the other night? That was nice."

Buffy ignored the question. "Did the twins take their nap?"

"Yeah, right," Dawn answered, rolling her eyes. "You try and get them to sit still for two seconds. If they weren't fighting, they were running laps through the kitchen."

Buffy glanced sideways at her husband. "Giles, could you…?"

"Of course."

Alex had already caught the gist of the conversation and started in a run. He'd only made it to the kitchen doorway before his father caught him and hefted him under his arm. The boy started crying and flailing his limbs in an effort to escape naptime. Giles groaned. "I'm too old to chase wayward children." He held out his hand to Robin, and she was thankfully more compliant.

When they were gone, Buffy took a seat on the couch beside her sister and the vampire who loved her. "We need to have a conversation."

Dawn sighed and nodded. She straightened in her seat, as if guarding herself against whatever was about to be said. Spike shifted too, sliding an arm around her shoulders in a show of support.

"Giles and I talked about this. Actually, this is one of those things Giles said was up to me. Him not being your father or anything, he didn't really think he was in a position to make decisions about this kinda stuff."

"I love Spike," Dawn said defiantly.

"I know. And I'm starting to believe that he loves you." Buffy looked past her sister to the vampire she had known for so many years now, as both enemy and friend. She remembered his bruised and bloodied face after the torture he had endured at Glory's hands, for her, for Dawn. She remembered how he had taken her sister in without question after Tara was brainsucked, how Dawn had seemed more at peace after a few short hours in his company. She remembered inviting him in her home before the battle with Glory, standing in her living room and making him promise to protect Dawn. He had said it so calmly, with such intensity: _Till the end of the world. Even if that happens to be tonight._ Had he loved her even then?

She licked her lips and started with the speech she had mentally rehearsed earlier. "Spike said something to me when we were driving to the hospital from the beach. He said he's been standing on the outside for years. He's right. And maybe it's time to change that. I would be a pretty big hypocrite if I forgave Willow for everything she did without also acknowledging everything Spike's done for us in the last couple weeks." Buffy smiled at the vampire, a genuine smile of gratitude. "You saved Giles. Without you, he'd probably still be lying upstairs in a coma, and I might have been sitting down here planning our children's funerals." She closed her eyes and swallowed. It was the first time she had put it into words, the first time she truly realized how narrowly she'd avoided that possibility. It made her sick just thinking about it.

She felt Dawn's hand slide into hers, and she laced their fingers together. With a sigh, she opened her eyes and continued. "Spike, you are welcome in our home anytime you like. And if you want to date my sister… Well, I'm not going to do the dance of joy about it, but I'm not going to stand in the way either."

Dawn smiled widely and leaned across the couch to give her sister a big hug.

As soon as they'd pulled apart, Buffy shook one finger in her face. "That doesn't mean there aren't still rules. You may be eighteen, but you're still in high school, and you're still living in our house. That means you still have a curfew, and homework comes first, and I can still ground you if you get in trouble."

"Okay, I get it," Dawn assured her.

Buffy glared at Spike. "And if you want to date Dawn, then you will have to remember that she is still living by our rules. No drinking. No smoking."

Dawn made a face. "Ewww! Like I'd smoke."

Buffy continued as if she hadn't been interrupted. "And you will behave like a total gentleman. Of course, this where I have to tack on the obligatory 'If you ever hurt her, I'll use your ashes for fertilizer' disclaimer."

"Yeah, yeah, I've heard that song before. We finished?"

Buffy sighed and looked at the two of them. "I guess." She shook her head. "Aren't you the least bit embarrassed, Spike, that you're a hundred and twenty-five years old and your girlfriend has a curfew?"

"Least she's sane this time."

Buffy got up off the couch, and spared them one last glance, still shaking her head. "I'd rather not see any kissing, though, if you can help it." She shuddered. "I'm going upstairs to check on the kids."

They were both sleeping when she got up there. Giles was lying beside them, just staring at them. His fingers reached out to brush some hair from Robin's forehead. Buffy slid into bed too, spooning up behind him.

He accepted her arms around his waist, laying his own hands over them. "Thank you," he murmured softly.

"For what?"

He rolled over onto his back so he could see her. "For giving me two such beautiful and amazing children."

She smiled and kissed him. "You're welcome." She shifted position so she was lying on top of him, her head resting on his chest. "As wonderful as I think they are, I still wouldn't mind breaking them of sleeping in Mommy and Daddy's bed."

He chuckled. "Give it a few more days. Robin still had a terrible nightmare last night. Maybe this weekend we can reacquaint them with their own beds."

Buffy began kissing him along his neck and chin. "And then Mommy and Daddy can get reacquainted."

With a hand to the back of her head, he pulled her to his lips and demonstrated just how eager he was for such a reconciliation. Soon their kissing became too passionate, too heated and desperate, and they needed to pull apart or risk not being able to stop.

Buffy laid her head on his chest once more as she caught her breath. She glanced over at their sleeping children and groaned. "The sacrifices parents have to make," she sighed.

"Indeed," he agreed, his fingers tracing feather light paths down her spine. "Did you and Dawn have a productive conversation?"

"Yeah, we'll probably be seeing a lot more of Spike in the future."

"I suppose I should make some half-hearted jibe at his expense, but the truth is he's grown on me."

She nuzzled closer. "Me too," she muttered softly. They were both silent for a little while as they pondered that revelation. Less than two months ago, Buffy would have never expected it: betrayed by a friend and saved by a former enemy.

"Giles?" She was the first to break the silence and change the subject. "Have you been thinking anymore about how you're going to rebuild the Council?"

His hand stilled its movements across her back. "I can hardly think of anything else." He sighed, and his fingers resumed their nervous caresses, this time through her hair. "It's overwhelming. I grew up surrounded by the Council, its traditions, its beliefs. It seemed so big, so old, so _permanent_. I don't know how to even do it justice, starting over with only myself and my modest collection of books. None of the watchers' diaries I have here date back much farther than the Crusades. Whole chapters of Council history are just gone."

He tilted his head to see her more clearly. "Did you know the Watcher's Council used to have a place of honor beside the Roman Emperors at the Coliseum? In fact, they sometimes hired gladiators to help train their slayers."

"Hmm…" she answered thoughtfully. "Feel free to hire Russell Crowe anytime you like."

"I'll consider it," he retorted dryly.

"You know, I've been thinking about what you asked before: what would I change about the Council?"

"Yes," he encouraged.

"First off, I'd get rid of that test, the one from my eighteenth birthday."

"The Tento di Cruciamentum."

"Yeah, that."

He wrapped his arms tighter around her. "Never again," he promised fiercely.

"And you could rehire Wesley. He was technically a watcher."

"I had considered that. I had actually considered hiring on their entire team."

A beat. "Angel too?"

"He would be an asset, and I did promise him a clean slate."

She nodded against his chest. "You should ask Willow, too. I always figured she'd eventually join up with the Council."

"We'll see," he replied, noncommittally.

Buffy raised her head to look at him. She wasn't stupid. The tension between them in that hospital room had been palpable. The tension now in his frame was an echo of it. She touched her fingers to his cheek and waited until she had captured his gaze.

"We've never talked about it, Giles," she began softly, "but I know it hurt you that I forgave Angel so easily. After what he did to Jenny, to you. You probably wondered how I could do it. God knows it wasn't easy. But just because I forgave Angel, loved him, doesn't mean I forgot what it was like when he was Angelus. Now maybe Willow's the same deal, or maybe it's even worse this time, because she didn't just hurt you, she hurt our babies, she could have got them killed. And yeah, I feel angry and betrayed, and it's _hard_ to reach past that, and if I had lost any of you, then maybe I wouldn't be able to forgive her. But the way things are now, and even after everything she did, I can't help how I feel. I still care about her. I don't want to turn my back on her or cut her out of my life. I guess that's just how my heart works, Giles: when I love somebody, I love them no matter what."

He framed her face between his hands. "That is something I've always admired about you, Buffy. You offer your heart out with both hands."

She leaned down and kissed him, as if to erase his pain over Angelus and Willow both.

"Just give me time to mend fences with her," he begged when they finally pulled apart. As soon as she had nodded her assent, he steered the conversation back to the original subject. "What other ideas have you for the Council?"

"That spell you did when we were fighting Sabrina; that was pretty cool. It was like I could feel you with me, around me, part of me. I felt so safe, so protected, and yet so powerful. It was like I was the Slayer times ten. And when she nailed me with her sword, did you see how it just closed up right away?"

"Yes, I felt it when you were cut."

"Slayer metabolism is cool, but that was _amazing_. Is that normal, Giles? Is that a watcher thing, or a magic thing, or is it just you?"

He pondered the question for a moment, his brow lined with concentration. "I'm not sure. It's something we might need to experiment with. I suspect it might be part of being a watcher, a part that the Council had simply let fall by the wayside. It would make sense, though, if watchers have always continued through family lines, that it might have something to do with them needing this skill, needing to be able to shield their slayers with magic."

"Well, it sure saved my ass. Think that's a tradition we could bring back?"

"Most assuredly. It could prove to be an invaluable asset. I would need to accompany you on patrol, of course, but remain at a distance from the front line in order to work the magic properly." He tilted his head to study her a moment. "You're certainly a wealth of helpful suggestions this evening. Have you any more?"

She smiled then and traced circles on his chest with her finger. "I thought that since watchers get a salary… I think it's only fair that slayers get paid too."

He considered it for a moment. "And if I paid you a salary, would you give up your day job?"

"Give up being a cop? No way! I know you hate it, but I love it. I kinda need it, Giles. To be something besides the Slayer."

She could see that he was disappointed. She felt a little guilty that she couldn't give him this. After all, he only wanted to keep her safe. But being a cop was in her blood now too, and she would miss it. She would only grow to resent him if he pushed her to quit. He must have known that as well, or he would have argued with her. But this was the first time he had mentioned anything of the sort since their initial blowout over her enrollment in the Academy, and he let it drop just as quickly as he brought it up.

"You aren't the first to think of paying the slayer. The Council decided not to, long ago and for many reasons. In the past, her basic needs were always provided for by her watcher. In your case, you were still a dependent of your parents until your mother's death. And now, you have your job, and I have the store." He glanced down at her quizzically. "Why? Do you feel you require a salary?"

"It's more the principle of the matter. Now that I've seen their bankbook, I'm just thinking they were a bunch of cheap bastards. So why don't they pay us? We pretty much get the messy, no-fun, high-risk part of the deal. Seems like a pat on the back, 'Well done, pip, pip,' and a monthly check wouldn't be too much to ask for."

"Being a slayer is not a job, Buffy, it's a sacred destiny. It's not a choice you were given, nor is it something you can ever quit. It's a part of who you are. To pay you would be to cheapen your calling. Should we receive a salary for being Alex and Robin's parents? Being the slayer is more than a job, and as the slayer, you can't afford to ever think of it as such."

"And watchers don't have a sacred destiny? What happened to all Travers' talk about the bloodlines of the Council, a duty passed down through generations? They get to be chosen and paid at the same time."

She thought she had him when he paused, that maybe for once she might have beaten him at a debate, but after several moments' thought, he answered.

"There is an element of destiny and birthright for watchers as well, I'll grant you that. But watchers have left the Council before, or refused to take up the mantle of their calling. If a watcher turns his back on his duty, there is another to take his place. There is only one Slayer. If she decides it is a job she can simply quit, there is no one to take her place."

"So you don't pay us, 'cause you're afraid we might go on strike for better working hours or something like that?"

The shadow of a smile flickered over his lips before he was serious once more. "There is more to it than that, Buffy. A slayer's essential duty is to kill. If the Council pays her for this, does she become nothing more than a paid assassin? And if so, then how easy does it become for someone else to pay for her services as well?" He paused for a moment and watched her expression as she mulled that over. "A slayer is not something that should be available to the highest bidder. You are the righteous sword in a nightly battle against evil, and there is no appropriate compensation for that."

She frowned as she thought about his words. Finally, she tilted her head up to look at him, her chin resting on his chest. "Okay, that all makes sense. But _you_ should definitely give yourself a raise if you're going to be the head watcher dude."

He laughed deeply then, wrapping his arms tightly around her. "Let's go downstairs before Spike and Dawn get too comfortable by themselves."

* * *

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Giles asked as he loaded the cooler into the back of Xander's car.

Buffy rolled her eyes. He had been questioning this trip since the first mention. "Come on, Giles, they live in California. You want them to be afraid of the beach the rest of their lives? A little sun, sand, and fun will do them a world of good."

"Besides," Xander added, clapping his friend on the back. "It's Saturday, the sun is shining, and it's about the warmest day we've had this spring. You want to stay cooped up inside with a stack of books all day?" He gave the watcher a quick glance up and down. "Never mind. I forgot who I was talking to."

Buffy followed her husband into the house for one more load. "My mom always taught me to get back on the ice, and I-"

"Ice?" he interrupted. "I thought we were going to the beach?"

She sighed and handed him the folding chairs and beach towels. "Ice, as in ice skating, as in getting back on the ice after you fall down. Kinda like getting back on the horse, except I never really went horseback riding, unless you count those little pony rides at the fair, which I don't think you can, 'cause they only really go in circles and-"

"You had a point, Buffy?"

"Right," she said, grabbing the last of their picnic supplies and a wide brimmed straw hat she tugged on her head. "My point is we take them to the beach today, and we make it fun, and they won't be scared of it tomorrow. Besides, you and I could stand a little R and R. No thoughts about Willow or the new Council or Spike or the next big bad headed our way… and those better not be research-type books I saw you sneak into one of the bags."

They loaded the last of their things into Xander's car, and the Giles family piled into the little red convertible, leaving Xander and Anya to follow in their own, well-stocked car.

"Go park?" Alex asked brightly.

Buffy turned in her seat to face him. "Sort of, honey. There's a swing set where we're going and probably lots of other little kids to play with."

"Go slide?" Robin asked hopefully.

"I don't think there's a slide there," Buffy answered.

"Sure there is." Dawn was sitting in the backseat between the twins. It prevented them from starting a shoving contest. "They put a waterslide in just off the pier."

"We'll see," Buffy hedged. She was sure Alex would be willing to jump, especially after hearing about his earlier dive off the cliffs, but she wasn't sure she wanted him to. The water was probably too deep for him. Robin, on the other hand, wouldn't dare.

They arrived at the beach and found a place to spread out their blankets and chairs and picnic stuff. The sand was peppered with little islands of blankets and umbrellas, while the waterline was dotted with figures in bathing suits. The weather was warm and conducive to sunbathing, and so it seemed a large percentage of Sunnydale had decided to spend their Saturday taking advantage of it.

They managed to stake out a more secluded portion of beach, and Buffy immediately began lathering Alex with sunblock, even over his squirming protests. Robin, on the other hand, claimed a spot on Giles' lap and refused to budge.

"Here, do her," Buffy ordered, passing him the sunblock. "And don't miss any spots, or she'll end up polka-dotted."

Alex was eagerly watching a group of children build a sand castle, but seemed uncharacteristically hesitant to join them. Tethered to the edge of their beach blanket, he stared at the other children wide-eyed, as his thumb slowly found its way into his mouth. Buffy exchanged a significant glance with Giles.

"We can build a sand castle right here," she told her son, kneeling at the edge of the blanket and beginning to do just that.

He quickly warmed up to the task, his Uncle Xander offering helpful construction suggestions. Dawn was on pail duty, bringing back pails of water to mix with the sand until it was damp enough to pack together. Anya and Giles both reclined on their respective beach chairs, reading. Hers was "The First Year," his was "Fox in Socks," for his daughter, of course.

Robin grew restless after a short while, stealing glances at the castle construction currently in progress. Giles encouraged her to join the others, assuring her that he would still be seated right here if she needed anything. Buffy smiled when her daughter finally relaxed enough to begin playing in the sand.

They were devious in how they weaned the twins out of their sheltered alcove and onto the greater part of the beach. The castle's moat and attached structures stretched closer and closer to the water and farther and farther from their blankets. The twins were too occupied with building to notice until they'd reached the waterline. Robin jumped back slightly when the water washed in almost to her toes. Impulsively, she reached for her mother's hand, and Buffy felt a rush of joy and promise at the small gesture.

The next wave washed in farther and brushed over the little girl's toes. She reached her arms up for Buffy to lift her off the sand, her eyes scanning the beach for Giles' form until he waved back at her. That calmed her, and she turned back to study the waves smoothing the sand. Completely consumed by the water's movements, Robin absently laid her head against Buffy's shoulder.

Buffy's eyes misted up with the weight of her daughter's head against her shoulder. She felt the child's soft breath against her neck and dared a tender kiss on the girl's brow. For the first time since getting her back, Buffy felt like Robin's mother, that there might be some hope of claiming a part of the girl's heart for herself.

"Why?" Robin asked her softly, pointing one finger at the wave washing in.

"Why what, sweetie?"

"Why move?"

Buffy hadn't the faintest idea how to explain ocean waves to her daughter; she didn't really understand it herself. The girl had been silent for so long after her adoptive parents' deaths, but now that she had regained her tongue, she had turned into a little fountain of questions.

"I think that's a Daddy question. Here, I'll show you something cool you can do with it, though."

She knelt in the sand, just past the highest waterline. She waited for the water to roll out, and then quickly wrote "Robin" in the sand with one finger. A moment later and the next wave washed over it, erasing the letters completely.

"Primitive Etcha-Sketch," she informed her daughter solemnly.

Robin smiled and reached out her own finger to give it a try. Buffy set her down to give her room. She didn't time her artwork just right, though, and the water washed over her fingers mid-stroke, splashing some water up into her eyes. She blinked startled eyes in Buffy's direction.

Buffy had some experience with this. If Alex took a tumble, he looked to his audience before deciding what his own reaction should be. If they laughed, he laughed. If they, and by they Buffy was mostly thinking of Giles, hovered and checked him top to bottom for injuries, Alex figured he was hurt and should cry.

So Buffy laughed and splashed her own hands in the water. Robin echoed the laughter and resumed her attempts at drawing in the sand.

"Mommy!" Alex jumped on her back from behind, his arms circling her neck. "Go swim. Pwease," he pleaded.

"Alright. But if you get cold, you have to come out."

"Look!" Robin begged, tugging on Buffy's hand, apparently competing for her attention now. But the water had washed her artwork away before Buffy could see it. "Watch," she demanded.

She drew a rather shaky letter R in the sand and pronounced that "R for Robin," before the water wiped clean her accomplishment.

Alex figured out their game and drew his own letter in the sand. "Omega," he said proudly. Then he tugged on his mother's hand and gave her the puppy dog eyes he had learned at her knee. "You swim too."

Buffy sighed, pulled in separate directions by her two children. She led them both back up to the blankets and took off their outer layer of clothing. Underneath, she had already dressed them in their bathing suits. She'd done the same for herself and stripped off her shorts and shirt. That pried Giles' eyes from his book long enough to get a good look at her in her bikini.

"Daddy swim," Alex asked as he climbed on his father's chest.

Robin climbed up beside him. In this, they seemed to be in agreement.

"I would," he promised them, "but I've forgotten my bathing suit."

"_Conveniently_ forgotten his bathing suit," Buffy added. "C'mon, race you."

She took off at a run, and the twins were soon on her heels, giggling until they'd all run splashing into the surf. Xander came running behind them and dove in once the water was waist high. Dawn was the last one in, tiptoeing along the edges, complaining that the water was too cold, until the twins had both splashed her and she was wet anyway. She started to chase them, but they hid behind their mother, and Dawn had far too much experience in splashing contests with Buffy to even attempt it.

* * *

"Robin seems to be much less clingy," Anya commented as she glanced over the top of her book.

The watcher's diary in Giles' hands seemed to be more show than anything; he had barely read two sentences out of it. Mostly, he had been watching Buffy and the twins over the top of it. A part of him wanted to join them, but he saw how Robin was beginning to warm up to her mother, and he couldn't bring himself to intrude on their bonding.

"Yes," he answered. "I think the time I spent under that spell forced her to rely on Buffy and Dawn. I believe she's beginning to trust other people again."

Anya nodded and lapsed into silence, absorbing herself in her book once more.

Giles interrupted. "Anya, if you had so much money, you didn't know what to do with it, what would you, umm… _do_ with it?"

She turned her head and stared at him blankly. "You can't ever have _too_ much money," she informed him.

"Ah, of course," he answered and resumed pretending to read the watcher's diary in his hands as he watched the others in the water.

* * *

Within an hour, the twins were shivering and ready to come in out of the water. Buffy had been ready after the first ten minutes, but children were generally willing to turn blue before admitting to being cold when it came to swimming. Buffy remembered camping trips with Dawn all too well, the pair of them needing to warm up by the campfire after particularly brisk swims.

They all dried off, pulled on dry clothes over their suits, and gathered around their blankets for a picnic lunch. Robin claimed a spot on her father's lap and regaled him with her swimming exploits, including the wave that had knocked her over from behind. Alex jumped in with his own story, because the wave that had knocked _him_ over was much bigger.

Food eaten, the twins resumed their sand castle building activities. The adults stretched out and enjoyed the afternoon sun.

"Those supplies you ordered were in this morning's shipment," Anya remarked offhandedly.

"What supplies?" Buffy asked, as she turned to her watcher.

Giles tilted his head and pursed his lips as if screwing up the courage to tell her something. "When I did that spell, to trace the magic back from Robin…"

"Oh, no," she insisted. "You're not trying that again."

"No, I'm not," he assured her. "But I discovered something then, a spell that was still on Robin. It's very likely on Alex as well."

Buffy sat forward, her eyes growing round with alarm. "What kind of spell?"

He hesitated, dropping his gaze as he said it softly, "A Chaos spell."

She felt a rush of slayer adrenaline. She wanted to put her fist through something, or rather through some_one_. "Ethan Rayne. Oh, I hope he shows his face in Sunnydale again, so I can introduce him to Mr. Pointy. He is _sooo_ dead meat. He's worse than dead meat, he's… he's…"

"The fungus that grows on the carcass of dead meat?" Anya offered helpfully.

"Yeah, that." Buffy pointed enthusiastically at the ex-demon. "I'm so gonna kick his ass right back to that Initiative detainment facility. They'd take him back, wouldn't they?"

Giles sighed. "Buffy, he cast the spell a long time ago, probably when they were both babies. It might be what prevented us from finding Robin, but it might also be what led us to Alex. And there is also a very good chance that Ethan's Chaos spell is the only thing that saved Robin from sharing the other potentials' fate that night."

She frowned. "So it's not a bad thing?"

"Not entirely."

"But you're still going to get rid of it?"

"Chaos is wild and unpredictable. It might have saved her the last time; it might put her in danger the next. The safest thing would be to remove the spell from both of them."

"Okay," Buffy agreed, then began smiling wickedly as she caught sight of something behind Giles. She waved off his curious expression at her inappropriate amusement. "Just thinking about Chaos: unpredictable, wild, bad or good, depending on your perspective." She inched back from him ever so slightly as she burst out laughing.

He frowned at her suspiciously. "What's so funny?"

"Oh, you'll find out in a just a second."

And just a second later, he shrieked and bolted to his feet. Buffy didn't know he could shriek like that, all high-pitched and girly. Apparently none of the others did either, as he had garnered the attention of all. He stood stiffly, with water dripping down his hair and shoulders and shirt. Twin giggles chorused behind him, and he turned to see the two children standing innocently with their empty pails.

"Well, that was… bracing."

They must have seen something flash in his eyes, because they both took off at a dead run. He was on their heels a moment later, foiled when they split off in opposite directions. He caught up to Alex, scooping the child up and tossing him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He turned in Robin's direction. She had lost her head start when she stopped to laugh at Alex's capture, but after seeing her father start in her direction, she valiantly struggled to put distance between them. Small legs and small lungs were her downfall, and Giles had her tucked under his arm within moments.

"You want Daddy to go for a swim, do you?"

Both children squealed and laughed, kicking and struggling against his grip as he walked ever closer to the surf. Buffy didn't think he would actually do it, not fully clothed, not after insisting that the water was too cold. But he did. He waded out knee deep and then dove backwards into a wave, taking both the children with him. The water washed over them, and then he reemerged at the other side of the wave, standing up with a child in each arm. The three of them were thoroughly drenched as they made their way out of the surf. Buffy laughed at the sight. Poor Giles was wearing jeans.

He set the twins down halfway back to their blanket, and they raced back to their mother. She had a dry towel waiting for each of them. Giles stopped just in front of her, and she sized him up and down.

"You could have at least taken your shoes off first."

He gave her a lopsided grin. "My glasses would have been the wiser choice. I appear to have lost them in the surf." His grin evened out into a full smile. "Care to help me look for them?"

"Huh?"

Alex leaned over to whisper in her ear, "Daddy throw you too."

Buffy's eyes widened, and she was on her feet, running.

"You weren't supposed to warn her, Alex," he scolded before taking off after her.

The shifting sand beneath their feet put them both at a disadvantage, and Buffy was laughing too hard to keep whatever edge being the Slayer might have given her. He was pulling her back by her wrist before they had gone a hundred feet. She twisted and spun him off balance, and soon they were sparring in the sand. They traded blows, Buffy ever careful of the fact that he wasn't wearing protective gear, and Giles seemingly in a Ripperish mood: he fought dirty. She found herself actually struggling to stay ahead of him and countering moves that he had never taught her.

They attracted a curious audience. Buffy earned a few "Ooo's" and "Ahhh's" as she executed a fairly athletic flip onto her feet after Giles knocked her to the sand. She tried to return the favor, but he caught her leg sweep before it could connect and used her momentum to spin her past him. Unfortunately for him, he also caught her next blow, this time with his chin.

He staggered backwards, bent over with a hand pressed to his jaw.

"Omigod!" Buffy cried, rushing to his side. "I'm so sorry! Giles, are you okay?"

He hefted her over his shoulder before she knew it, and was carrying her towards the ocean as he scolded, "How many times have I warned you not to let your guard down, even when faced with an apparently incapacitated opponent?"

"Ah! That was a dirty trick. Put me down. I already went swimming. Now I'm all dry and dressed. No fair!"

"The forces of evil rarely fight fair."

He waded out knee-deep, and now she was holding tight so he _wouldn't_ put her down.

"If you don't throw me in, I'll cook dinner for the next week," she begged.

"Is that supposed to be an incentive?"

"I'll keep the twins out of your hair all day tomorrow so you can have some peace and quiet."

"I spent eleven days learning that peace and quiet are vastly overrated."

"Alright, I'll talk Dawn into watching the twins tomorrow so _we_ can have some _not_ peace and quiet."

He seemed to consider her offer.

"C'mon, Giles, it's been like a month."

"And whose fault would that be?"

"Well, mine," she admitted. "But here I am, trying to make it up to you."

He turned towards shore, and she was sure she had won. "Actually," he told her, "I'm fairly certain you won't deny me on account of some harmless fun."

Turned out he had faced shore only to give himself a better angle for tossing her into an approaching wave.

She stood up, dripping wet and cold and shivering. "Oh, you are going to regret that, Mister."

He smiled wickedly. "Am I?"

She trudged out of the surf, stalking him as he slowly retreated back towards the blankets. "Oh, not now," she promised him. "But soon, and when you least expect it."

* * *

The sun went down, and the group curled up beside a bonfire they'd built on the beach. Spike had joined them at nightfall, and he and Dawn were taking a leisurely stroll along the waterline. That was one good thing about her sister dating a vampire: she didn't need to worry about after dark attacks; Spike would protect her. Anya was curled up against Xander's arm as he attempted to demonstrate for her the proper way to cook marshmallows. She preferred them black and burnt, and he decreed that there was no hope for her. The twins were consuming their uncle's marshmallows as fast as he could make them, so the graham crackers and chocolate he had waiting never actually became s'mores. Buffy nibbled on the chocolate until only the graham crackers were left, and Xander pronounced his whole s'more making effort a complete failure.

Buffy and Giles were nearly dry, nestled up together near the fire. She had slipped on a light jacket over her bare arms and pair of sweat pants over her shorts. The night had rapidly cooled as the sun set, and the warmth of the fire was more than welcome. Giles was wearing his jacket now too, but the poor man's jeans were still damp.

The beach was mostly empty, so the figure she spied moving towards them stuck out like a sore thumb. Buffy felt the familiar tingle even at this distance, and looked sideways at Giles.

"Umm… Don't want to upset you, but…"

He glanced over at the approaching figure. "It's okay, Buffy. I invited him."

"You did?"

"I promised, remember? A clean slate." He stood and took each of his children by their sticky hands. "Come on, Robin, let's go meet your Uncle Angel, shall we?"

Buffy smiled, knowing that Angel had earned the title Uncle, that he would have a place in their lives, not just as part of Giles' new Council, but as part of their extended family.

Alex looked at his father and informed him solemnly, "Angel big poof wif lame hair."

Giles turned to give Buffy an astonished look.

"Don't look at me. Ten bucks says Spike taught him that."

Giles laughed. "Yes, well let's not repeat that in front of Angel, okay, Alex?"

Buffy watched the three of them meet Angel halfway. Whatever brainwashing Spike had managed ran only surface deep. Alex didn't hesitate to weasel a piggyback ride out of Angel within the first two minutes. Robin, however, stayed close to her father as they walked slightly away from the group. Buffy wished she could hear what they were saying. She and Xander would have taken bets on how long before Giles asked the vampire to join his new Council. Buffy would have won. She knew her watcher, and there was only so much social chit-chat he could exchange with Angel. Giles would have cut to the chase within the first minute.

She asked Angel later, when it was just the two of them sitting alone on the pier. She was right. It had been the second thing Giles had said to him.

"So are you going to be part of this new Council?"

His face was unreadable, as she had always remembered it. The tall, mysterious, brooding stranger who was the crux of every teenage girl's romantic fantasies. "I'll have to discuss it with the others, of course. I think Cordelia will lobby for it, mainly because of the steady paycheck. Gunn will be the only one we'll need to win over, I think. Let him be a freelance operative, though, and he might agree to it."

"Gunn? I think I met him briefly when we were in LA after the twins were born."

"Yes."

She shook her head, and then tipped it back to look at the stars. "Seems weird to think of you with this whole separate life, with friends that I don't even know. It seems like we just got put on pause: you walked off into the mist and nothing changed between us."

He leaned back to stargaze in a matching pose. "I don't know. You were pretty angry with me when Faith was there. And I have fond memories of beating up your commando boyfriend."

She smiled and nudged him playfully with her shoulder. "Okay, so we didn't stay exactly the same. Still, you think we've changed enough that we could do the friendship thing? You think it's been enough years now?" She felt his eyes on her and turned to meet them.

"I left because we both wanted more than friendship, and we couldn't have it. Things are different now. _We_ would be different."

She nodded and leaned sideways until her head was resting against his shoulder. "This is nice. I've missed you." She sighed sadly. "It's too bad about that perfect happiness clause."

There was a long silence before he spoke. "Why? I thought you were happy with Giles?"

She laughed and looped her arm through his. "Oh, I am, but this is usually the part where the happily married woman tries to play matchmaker for her ex."

He shrugged and deadpanned, "You could match me up with someone who would make me perfectly miserable."

"You are being sarcastic, right?"

"Yes, I am," he assured her with a shadow of a grin.

"I'll have to get used to that dry wit of yours again." She placed her head on his shoulder once more, and they sat in companionable silence.

* * *

She tapped him on the shoulder, and he startled, glancing back first at her and then Angel. "Hey, Giles, let's go for a walk, just the two of us."

He checked the time before he considered it. "It's starting to get late. We should think about getting home, putting the children to bed."

She exchanged a knowing look with Anya, the two women smirking. Buffy tugged on his hand insistently. "The kids are already all asleep and cozy right here. Angel will watch over everyone. No harm in a little walk."

He acquiesced, and they walked hand in hand along the beach. She asked him to point out the stars to her, which he did, with a great deal more detail than she had wanted. They ventured past the public beach, and she led him up the embankment to a sheltered alcove, made private by a small rise of boulders.

"Buffy, what are you-?"

He trailed off when she pulled him behind the rocks and he saw the blankets, the wine, the candles. "Anya arranged to have all this set up for us."

A bemused expression washed over him, and he shook his head. "I should have guessed."

"She says you get crabby." Buffy wrapped her arms around his waist and reached up to give him a gentle peck on the nose. "And I figure, beds or the backseat of a car probably aren't appealing options for you right now, so…" She tossed her head back, smiling up at the night sky. "So just the stars above us and a blanket beneath, 'cause sand in tender places… not good."

He laughed and returned her embrace. "The thought is nice, but we really should take Dawn and the children home soon."

Her eyes lowered from the starlit sky above and found his eyes watching her. Her smile grew wider, and she shook her head. "When Spike and Dawn get back, the gang'll see everyone safely home, and Dawn'll watch the twins 'til we get back."

"Angel?"

"Will be returning to LA, supposedly to talk to the team about joining the Council, but mostly I don't think he wants to overstay his welcome. We had a nice visit, though. Thank you for inviting him."

"You're welcome," he answered sincerely, rubbing her back as his eyes scanned over the seduction scene laid out before him. "If you'd like to invite him over another time, I wouldn't mind."

"Enough talk about Angel." She leaned forward and kissed him, closing her eyes. His hands slid down to her waist, pulling her tight against him. She smiled as their kiss ended, still feeling the lingering tingle of his mouth on her lips. "Enough talk, period."

He lowered her to the waiting blanket and demonstrated his agreement. His touch was warm against her skin, his fingers sliding up beneath her jacket and shirt. Each kiss became more passionate than the last, as they both tried to communicate without words the full range of their emotions for the other. So much had happened between them since the last time they had made love. She had hated him for giving their daughter away without so much as a word to her on the subject. The hurt had carved itself even deeper when Robin's return only proved that she was his child alone, when the girl spurned every touch but his. And then had come Willow's fateful spell, and Buffy had a taste of what her life would be like without him. She didn't like it. She had regretted her earlier anger towards him, had wanted nothing more than for him to open his eyes, so she could tell him she was sorry, that he was forgiven, that she didn't care what he had done, as long as they had each other and their children, nothing else mattered. Night after night, she had lain beside his still form, wanting to tell him so many things.

She poured her heart out to him now, with the desperation of her kiss, with her fingers exploring every part of him they could reach, gathering him to her possessively, with her mouth tenderly kissing over all the bumps and scrapes he had earned in battle, had earned defending _her_, with her tongue memorizing the taste of him, tracing over the lines of collarbone and ribs and hips, with her soft sighs as he touched her in just the right places, with her tears that streaked unbidden down her cheeks as she took him inside her.

It was a reunion of sorts, an affirmation that the past was now firmly behind them, and the future was all that was important. A new beginning.

There were so many things he wanted to tell her as well. There were no words necessary; she could sense it all: his regret for the pain he had caused her over Robin, his need for her forgiveness, his guilt, deserved or not, for all that had happened, for Longsworth's theft of their daughter, for the other watchers and potential slayers they could not save, and his fear like a raw wound still healing after his ordeal at Willow's hands: fear of the darkness that forced him to leave the lights on like a small child wherever he went, fear of being closed in, locked in, trapped, so that he rarely shut doors behind himself anymore, so that even Buffy noticed the flooded bathroom floor each morning, sadly aware that he could not bring himself to close even the shower door completely, and greater than any of the others, his terrible fear of the loneliness he had endured. He had missed her dearly, and she knew the true depth of that ache without words ever passing between them. She knew it from his touch, from the way his breath caught as she kissed along his jawline, from the touch of his fingers across her skin as he proved to himself that she was real and not merely a dream, from the way he worshipped her with his body until she was writhing in his arms as if on fire.

She begged him to come for her, and he shook in her arms as he did, desperately clinging to her as if she might disappear in the next instant. He kissed her then and continued to love her and touch her until he'd brought her to her own release, her eyes open and unguarded and looking into his as she came.

The night air rapidly cooled them, so they reached for a second blanket to lay over themselves and shared the warmth of their bodies, snuggled up together beneath the stars. Giles offered to pour them each a glass of wine, but she refused to let him out of her arms long enough to do so. He sighed and pressed her head down to rest against his chest, and they enjoyed a rare interlude of blissful calm.

As all good things must end, it was Giles who finally reminded them of their obligations back at home.

"We should probably head back, make sure Dawn was able to get the twins settled in bed without difficulty."

"Uh-uh. You promised."

"Promised what, my love?"

"To tell me your life story, when the world wasn't falling down around us." She snuggled closer, gazing up at the night sky. "The stars are bright, not a cloud in sight." She made a face, and he chuckled. "Ick, that rhymed. My point is we've made the world safe for democracy again. So pay up."

"Very well. I did promise." He sighed and absently ran his fingers through her hair as he spoke. "Once upon a time, there was a boy, Rupert Giles. Handsome and charming and suave and resembling a young Hugh Grant… Oww!" He jumped as she pinched him. "Or possibly Jude Law?" She began tickling him unmercifully, and he rolled them both several times off the blanket and across the sand as he attempted to evade her assault. Laughing, he caught her hands in his own and pulled her down for another lingering kiss.

She stayed as she was, sprawled on top of him, laying her head down in the crook of his neck. "No fair trying to distract me. I'm serious. I want to hear it."

He resumed stroking her hair, shaking bits of sand from it. "If you insist. I suppose our hero's tale begins when he was very young, when his father told him that his life belonged to a girl not even born yet."

"And he was bummed out?"

"Exceedingly so."

"Because he wanted to be a fighter pilot?"

He titled his head down and flashed her a wry, embarrassed grin. "You remember that?"

"Oh, yeah, baby. I told Xander and Willow, and they used to salute you when you weren't looking."

"I was ten, Buffy. I'll wager that when you were ten, you wanted to be a princess or a fashion model."

"Uh-uh. I was going to be Dorothy Hamill." He stared at her blankly for a moment, waiting for the explanation. "Ice skater."

"Ah. At any rate, this stalwart and true young lad tried very hard: learning languages and studying the occult, all the while wishing nothing more than to be like other boys his age. Sound like a familiar tale?"

She raised herself up on one elbow to look down on him, her hair falling over them. "I'm sorry. I kinda ruined your life, and I wasn't even born yet. I guess I'm kinda good at messing stuff up."

He took her face between his hands, his fingers caressing her cheekbones and brushing over her lips. His expression was open, tender, and forgiving. "Ah, but you must let me finish the story. You see, if he had known at the time the girl he was destined to serve, he would have given up everything gladly."

"He would have really given up all of his dreams, just for her?"

"She would have been the dream that burned more brightly."

"Mmmm… mushy talk. You get a kiss for that." She bent her head slightly to close the distance between them and kissed him deeply, her hand sliding up to touch where his fingers rested against her cheeks. Their eyes closed, and time stopped.

"She would have been his North Star, his light at the end of the tunnel, the promise he clung to in moments of despair-"

"Okay, now you're bordering on overkill."

He chuckled. "But here's the rub: he would have gladly chosen his fate if he had known her, but he didn't and the choice was not his to make. So he resented the burden of his destiny and grieved for everything it cost him. He hated his father for forcing it upon him, and the two bickered at every opportunity. He turned to his mother for comfort, but she died when he was fourteen, leaving him to his father's mercies and the man's desires for a proper education: a private all boys' school sponsored by the Watcher's Council and more study than anyone that age could bear."

"What was she like?"

"Hmmm? My mother?"

"Yes."

"I'm afraid my memories of her are colored by my general unhappiness at the time. She was the only thing in my life that had nothing to do with watchers and study, and she often intervened with Father on my behalf. In hindsight, I would have to say that she had a tendency to coddle me."

"And you loved her for it."

"Dearly."

She was shivering in the cool night air, and he guided her back over to their blankets, wrapping them both in soft cotton. She prompted him to continue with his tale, "So your mother died, and you sorta rebelled against the whole watcher thing?"

"Not exactly. You'll have to let me finish the story. The rebellion came later. No, at first I tried to be the perfect son. I seemed to think I had an obligation to Mother to put the pieces back together and to help Father cope with his grief, even while I was struggling with my own. I had this misguided notion that he might be willing to reach out to me, that her death might bring us closer, but it only pushed us farther apart. It didn't matter how hard I tried, I was never what he wanted. I could never make up for her loss."

"And then you hooked up with Ethan and dropped out and stuff?"

He frowned at her. "You're certainly eager to skip ahead to my wilder days."

She blushed and buried her head against his shoulder. "Sorry. It's just… I've always been curious how you went from this stuffy, proper, traditional, tweed-wearing watcher-in-training to this lock-picking, car-hotwiring, cheating-at-cards little hellion."

He chuckled and turned his head to kiss her forehead. "It might surprise you to learn that the whole affair with Oxford and Ethan and Eyghon and Randall was not my first such rebellion."

She raised her head, her attention caught. His eyes were sparkling with mischief. "Really?"

He nodded and paused for a moment in thought. "The cursed band candy made us all behave as if we were about how old? Sixteen? That would be about right, I think."

"What happened?" Buffy leaned closer, desperately curious.

He smiled at her avid interest, clearly intending to torment her by disclosing the details only sparingly. "Well, in order to fully appreciate that whole story, I think I first have to tell you a little bit more about my father…"

She listened to his words, losing track of time as she received a long overdue education in her watcher and husband.

* * *

Three months later…

The song was slow, wistful, some trite pop song about fathers watching their daughters grow up. Giles was more than surprised to find that it was actually making him a bit misty. He tightened his grip around Dawn's waist and pressed his cheek to the crown of her hair, closing his eyes and trying to ignore the camera flashes from the photographers.

"I kept my end of the bargain," he murmured softly.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," she sighed, as if they'd already had this conversation a hundred times, which they had. "I'll finish school."

"And if you expect me to pay for it," he added, "I'll need to see your report card at the end of each term."

"God, Giles, it's not like you and Buffy aren't gazillionaires."

"And it's not like you don't have the talent to do well in school, if you don't let yourself become distracted."

"Fine. But you haven't exactly kept up your end of the bargain yet."

He frowned down on her and paused the slow swaying of their dance for a moment. "I haven't?"

She turned her face up to him then. She had grown into such a lovely young woman. Her face was accented with more make-up than he had ever seen her wear, and her hair was swept up in an elaborate arrangement that seemed so much more adult than he could bear to think of her. In her dark eyes, he still saw the ten-year old girl who had followed Buffy into the library that first year, complaining that Buffy was supposed to take her to the mall. He remembered the iron will in those eyes that next summer, as she had stood defiantly in the middle of his library, demanding that he explain to her why her sister had run away and why no one would tell her anything, insisting that she knew that he knew, because she wasn't stupid and she heard him and her mother downstairs talking all the time after they thought she was in bed. Dawn had started to cry then, but she was resolute in her determination that he would tell her everything.

Intellectually, he knew that those events had never actually happened, but it didn't erase the images from his mind or change the fullness of his heart when he looked down on her. She was eighteen now, but still impossibly young in his eyes, far too young for any of this, in his opinion. But it was the iron will in her eyes that had coaxed his blessing on this marriage, against his better judgment. As he had looked into Dawn's determined brown eyes, Spike's earlier words had echoed in his mind: _Dawn's old enough to make her own choices now. In the end, she'll do what she likes, so you have to ask yourself: do you want to be part of her life or not?_

A part of him wanted to keep her young and innocent, wanted to shelter her as he couldn't shelter her sister, but the greater part of him knew that Dawn hadn't been young or innocent in a very long time, not since they had put Buffy's coffin in the ground. Not since before that, really. Not since their mad dash through the desert to escape a hellgod, or the unexpected loss of her mother before that. Not since that moment at Buffy's twentieth birthday party, when Dawn had stood so calmly in the living room with a carving knife in one hand as blood dripped down the other. _Is this blood? This is blood, isn't it? It can't be me. I'm not a key. I'm not a thing._ That had been the moment she had said goodbye to her childhood.

He might think she was rushing into this, but half a lifetime lived on a Hellmouth, surrounded by death, had surely taught her that life was precious and fleeting and that happiness should be snatched with both hands and held tight for however long one could protect it.

She stroked a perfectly manicured hand down the side of his face. "You promised to be civil the entire day, and the day's not over yet."

"I've kept my tongue so far, haven't I?" He grinned ruefully as he caught sight of something out of the corner of his eye. "I promise you, Spike and I will get along famously for the remainder of the day. Your father, on the other hand, has been glaring daggers at me since dinner."

She stole a glance in her father's direction, and then gently steered their dancing so as to put him out of Giles' line of sight. "Dad got to walk me down the aisle, didn't he? And we had our dance. He shouldn't be mad just 'cause I wanted a dance with you too."

He laid his cheek against her hair once more. Their song would end soon. "We'll all miss you around the house."

She laughed lightly. "Yeah, right. I bet you've already been in my room with the tape measure, figuring out how many bookshelves you can fit."

He chuckled too. "No, your sister informs me that Robin shall require her own room. So, unless we move to another house or add on to this one, I'll have to make do as I always have."

"Poor Giles," she sighed.

"We truly shall miss you, Dawn. _I'll_ miss you."

"Yeah, you might actually have to start paying for babysitting."

"Dawn," he chided.

"Yeah, I know. I'll miss you guys too. You have to come visit. Maybe spend Christmas with us. The twins have never seen snow. We'll take them sledding."

He sighed sadly. "Not that I'm not incredibly proud of you for being accepted to Yale, but you couldn't choose a college that wasn't on the other side of the country? Stanford also has an excellent theatre department, you know."

"Meryl Streep went to Yale. And Sigourney Weaver and Jodie Foster… and one day they'll say that's where Dawn Summers went."

Her voice was filled with such youthful enthusiasm, he couldn't help a sly comment in response. "Yes, that terribly famous actress with the odd husband who never ages or goes out in daylight."

"Hey, hey," she protested. "You promised."

"Yes, I did," he answered, suitably chastised. In truth, he was being good; he had withheld a much more biting comment about Spike.

The music stopped, and he tucked her hand in the curve of his arm and escorted her from the floor. She gave him a bright smile, and he leaned forward to kiss her gently on the cheek. Spike was waiting to claim her for their own dance, and Giles smiled for the vampire as well before handing Dawn over to his care.

"Here, have some champagne." Buffy pressed a flute into his hand. "It makes the whole thing easier to watch."

He wrapped one arm around her and spared her a sideways glance before taking a long swig of bubbly. "They seem very happy together."

"Yeah," she reluctantly agreed. "But I always thought Dawn had better taste than Spike."

Giles nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, it's a shame she couldn't settle down with a man who was only twice her age."

A smirk was beginning to twist his lips, and Buffy nudged him in the ribs. "Okay, I get it." She lifted her own glass in a toast. "To unconventional relationships. May they all turn out as well as ours."

"Here, here," he answered, clinking their glasses before taking another swallow of champagne.

* * *

Anya sat with two pieces of wedding cake in front of her. She had scraped the frosting off of one, and was working on sneaking one of the frosting flowers off of Xander's piece. The placard in the middle of the table read: _Reserved- Scoobies._

Willow sat on Xander's other side, chatting with Buffy about the latest happenings at Sabrina's old sorority house. After the debacle with Camela's sword, the sorority girls were left more or less leaderless, and Willow had stepped in to fill that role. She felt responsible for them, and cleaning up the mess Sabrina had made of these girls' lives, not to mention the young runaways at the shelter, could be considered appropriate penance.

Time was healing the rift between Willow and the rest of the group, each side doing their level best to reach past their own hurt for the sake of friendship. Even Giles had had his moments, when he and Willow were both bent over their respective books during late night research sessions and able to exchange teasing comments about who had eaten the last jelly donut without the awkwardness that had been present only a month ago. Even so, Giles had yet to give her back her magic, although Willow didn't seem to mind doing things the hard way this time.

Giles was sitting on Buffy's other side, their hands clasped together, watching the twins on the other side of the reception hall. Three months had done wonders for Robin, and she had certainly revealed herself to be a little social butterfly when given the opportunity, although she still favored Giles over anyone else. At the moment, she and Alex were competing for their grandparents' attention, and Hank was lavishing it on them both as if he hadn't neglected his family for the entire previous year.

Anya licked the frosting off her fork and thumped it on the table, grumbling loudly enough to stop the other conversations at the table, "I don't understand. This baby was supposed to be born eight days ago. I had the date marked on the calendar."

Giles pulled his attention away from the twins and smiled at her kindly. "Babies don't always come on schedule, Anya."

She glared at him. "I didn't ask for your opinion. Your children came on their due date, not to mention six months earlier than other babies do."

Buffy chuckled. "I never thought about that. I guess they did come on their due date."

Anya gave her a withering glare twice as scathing as the one she had given Giles. "Yes, aren't we the lucky little Slayer? I don't understand. I've tried everything it says in the book. Xander and I have had so much sex, even I'm getting sick of it. Well, okay, maybe not."

Xander blushed and offered to fetch her more cake, corner pieces with much frosting, quickly disappearing before waiting for her answer.

Willow patted the despondent mother-to-be on her hand. "Just be patient; it won't be too much longer."

Anya bit off another mouthful of cake before mumbling bitterly, "What would you know about it? Evil lesbian."

Willow slowly withdrew her hand.

"You know what worked for me?" Buffy offered. "Getting kidnapped. That's a sure way to get labor started." Everyone else at the table stared at her incredulously for a moment, and she frowned back. "What? I can't crack jokes? I was more than six months along with _twins_, and Anya had me dressed up like a pumpkin. Be thankful Dawn let you duck out of the whole bridesmaid thing."

"My bridesmaid's dresses were very pretty," Anya protested before stuffing her mouth with more cake.

Giles took a swallow of champagne and leaned back in his chair, legs comfortably crossed. "I have something that I think might make you feel better, Anya."

She looked doubtful. "If you have more labor-inducing suggestions, I assure you, we've tried everything mentioned in those books. And might I add, that some of those sexual positions are not so easy to accomplish with nine months of baby inside you."

He cleared his throat and shifted in his seat uneasily. "I was thinking more of something that might lift your spirits. You may have noticed that my work rebuilding the Council has absented me from the shop quite a bit as of late."

"Of course I've noticed," she answered sharply. "_I'm_ the one who has to pick up the slack. I think we should ask Charity on full time over the summer break, and then maybe hire someone else when she goes back to college in the fall."

He set his champagne flute on the table and twisted the stem nervously. "That's probably a wise decision. What I wanted to speak with you about, however, involves… ownership issues. I'm afraid heading up the Council is going to be a full time endeavor, and there really is no point in my keeping the Magic Box… You see where I'm going with this?"

She gasped and slammed her hands down on the table. "Of all the nerve! You're selling the store out from under me? Now? With impending parenthood making financial stability all the more imperative? What if Xander gets laid off? Then we won't have any money. Do you want our child to live on the street? Is that what you want?"

"Anya. Anya! _Anya_!" he shouted above her, trying to get her attention. He leaned forward across the table and took her hand. "I'm not selling the store. I meant… I'm _giving_ you the store."

"Oh." She settled back in her chair and processed that. "Oh." She laid one hand on her belly and began to cry.

Xander returned with a piece of cake in each hand to find his wife in tears. "An, honey, the baby will come soon. Please don't get yourself all upset over it."

"That's not why she's crying," Buffy assured him.

"Giles," Anya managed between sobs, pointing at him sitting across the table.

Xander glared sharply at the watcher. "What'd you say to her, Giles?"

"Nothing bad," he answered defensively. "I j-just… just gave her the bloody store." He finished his glass of champagne in one swallow, and Buffy smiled sympathetically, laying her hand over his.

Xander pulled up a chair beside his wife and rubbed her back soothingly. "This is a good thing, right? Why are you crying?"

"I don't know," she sniffled, shaking her head. "I guess I'm really happy. Oh, Xander, we're going to make lots and lots of money!" She latched onto the lapels of his jacket and pulled him forward into a passionate kiss. He smiled and brushed the tears from her cheeks.

"Xander, I have a proposition for you as well," Giles began. "Have you ever thought about owning your own construction company?"

The young man's eyes widened. "That's too much. I-I couldn't… I mean, I wouldn't feel right…"

Giles tilted his head in acknowledgement. "Think of me as an investor, then. I'll put up the capital to get you started, and you can pay it back as the company begins to profit."

"I don't know…" Xander shook his head, obviously overwhelmed. "I mean, I know you and Buffy came into all this Council money, but it would kinda feel like charity or something, you know?"

Giles laughed sharply. "Hardly. I assure you, this is entirely self-motivated on my part. I need to rebuild the Council, and that is going to require some literal rebuilding. I haven't the first clue about construction, and I'm going to need someone I can trust heading up the job, someone who won't rob me blind or do a second rate job, someone who will understand the unique requirements that Council buildings will have." He crossed his hands on the table and leaned forward. "Are you up to the job?"

Xander looked like deer caught in headlights. Anya slapped him on the shoulder and snapped, "What are you doing? Take his money!"

That seemed to jolt him from his daze. "Okay." A slow grin crept across his face. "Okay." Giles offered his hand out across the table, and Xander grasped it. They shook on it. "Okay, boss."

Giles groaned. "Please don't call me that. The point of this is that _you'll_ be running the construction company, so I can have minimal involvement in it."

"You got it, G-man."

"On second thought, 'boss' has a rather nice ring to it." He rose from his chair. "If you'll excuse me, I have some more business to take care of."

Buffy watched as he walked away, headed off to speak with Spike now that the vampire seemed to be momentarily alone. That was a conversation she would be disappointed to miss.

"Boy, Giles is sure getting into this whole rebuilding the Council thing, isn't he?" Willow commented.

"Yeah, it's kinda become the family business. I help out when I can. And Robin'll probably be a slayer someday." Buffy noticed how her friend looked away in shame. She sighed and continued, "Giles is thinking of training her for it- our way, not the way Travers wanted us to- and Alex'll probably be a watcher someday, although we're not going to make him or anything. Add in all the other people Giles is enlisting, and the Council really is going to be our little family business."

"Yeah," Willow answered, making little fork marks on top of her white frosting. "Angel and Wesley and Xander… kinda got everyone working for the Council now."

Buffy would have to be deaf not to hear the longing in her friend's voice. "Do you want to be a watcher, Willow?"

Her green eyes flashed up in surprise. Skepticism creased her brow. "Is this a hypothetical question, or are you actually asking me?"

"I think you're everything a watcher should be: you're smart, good with the research, kick-ass with the magic." Her friend's eyes again lowered, and Buffy pressed on. "Sure, you've made a few mistakes, but that just makes you human. I think you should be part of the Council."

Willow seemed thoughtful for several moments, considering it. Finally, she met Buffy's gaze. "Are you asking me, or is Giles?"

Buffy floundered for a moment. "Well… I am. But he'll ask you eventually, too."

Willow nodded and smiled sadly. "When Giles asks me, then I will."

* * *

Giles headed Spike off at the door. The vampire was obviously sneaking out for a cigarette, now that the sun had finally set and he could actually leave the protection of the building that had hosted both wedding and reception without him disintegrating into a pile of ash.

"I s'pose you'll tattle to Dawn on me, eh?" Spike complained. "Look, we came to an agreement. I wouldn't smoke 'round her is all. Not like it's going to kill me or anything."

Giles shook his head, although he was still preventing Spike from going outside, mostly because he didn't want to stand in a cloud of smoke himself. He may have indulged when he was younger, but now he would rather avoid getting the smell into his tux. "I could care less whether you choose to indulge in that nasty habit. There's something else more important I wanted to discuss with you."

Spike groaned and rolled his eyes. "I shoulda seen this comin': This is where the new father-in-law sets the new husband up with a cushy job that'll keep his daughter all provided for. I'm right, ain't I? Corner office? Night time hours?"

Giles fidgeted uncomfortably. "I'm hardly your father-in-law," he complained, knowing the vampire had the rest of it right.

"You might as well be Dawn's father."

"If you want to get technical, I suppose you're my brother-in-law now."

"Brothers, eh?" Spike laughed. "Never thought Dru would have got that part of the dream right. So, brother, what kinda set up we talking here? Demon hunter? Hired assassin? 'Cause you sure ain't turning me into some kinda bookworm watcher. And frankly, I'm not much for the Nancy Drew thing Angel has going."

"Informant." Giles lowered his voice as an old lady in a peach dress passed by. "Someone who can infiltrate the demon population and pass on any useful information. You'll be going to Connecticut with Dawn, and the demons there won't know you're working for us."

Spike seemed to consider it. "I don't know. I don't fancy working for anyone. Never had to before."

"That's because you steal what you want, and frankly, I don't fancy sending Dawn off to college with someone who's going to furnish their home with stolen goods."

Spike pulled a cigarette from his pack and rolled it between his fingers as he thought.

As much as Giles believed Spike could be an asset to this new Council, he wouldn't be trying so hard if not for Dawn's sake, to give Spike some kind of anchor to the side of good, now that the pair of them would be so far away from the influences of the rest of the gang and the nightly battle against evil. Spike needed something to keep him on this path he had chosen, something besides just her. Giles owed it to her, and he also owed it to the vampire who had saved his life.

He still had one more trump card to play. "Angel Investigations is already in the employ of the Council. If you're looking for an official title, Spike, I could put you one tier above them."

Spike laughed. "You mean like Angel's boss?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes."

The vampire doubled over with his laughter, finally righting himself and giving Giles an enthusiastic pat on the back. "You really haven't forgiven him, have you?"

"Do you want the job or not?" Giles demanded irritably.

"So I'd really get to boss Angel around?"

"Within limits. If you needed them to investigate something you'd discovered while undercover, so to speak, or you had other Council business for them, then yes, they would answer to you."

Spike grinned and slowly backed out the front door, pointing the cigarette back at the watcher. "Sign me up." He lit the cigarette and took a long drag as he walked out into the night, shaking his head.

* * *

John felt something bump against his leg and lifted the tablecloth for a look underneath. Giles' little girl was crouched beneath the table, and she held a finger to her mouth to beg his silence. He scanned the room until he'd found what she was hiding from: the twin boy was peeking under tables six rows ahead, searching for her.

"Hide and seek, is it?"

She nodded and giggled.

John smiled. The two children had been little angels through the ceremony, diligently playing the roles of flower girl and ring bearer, picture perfect in their miniature formal wear. Although, Robin had seemed to think her job was finished as soon as she'd strewn a flower path up to the altar, and she had climbed into Giles' lap once she'd reached the front row.

At the reception, however, they'd revealed their true colors: perpetual motion machines, defying all laws of physics. John had teased his friend, guessing that the coma had merely been an effective way to catch a break. The offer to tag team the children still stood, and John was willing to lay odds that Giles would take him up on it before the summer was out.

"I thought you were keeping your grandparents busy?" He whispered.

She pointed off to the left, and John looked up to see Susan checking under tables several rows away.

April leaned over to give him a fond peck on the cheek. She still bore a scar across her face from her ordeal, and another that marred one breast. Every time they made love, it reminded him of how close he'd come to losing her. But the last three months had slowly returned things back to normal. April had reported for duty as soon as she'd recovered, and when her sergeant began looking for another partner for her, April had requested Buffy. It meant he and Giles saw a lot more of each other. There was always a special camaraderie between partners and their families, something John was delighted to share with his newfound friends. And for some reason he couldn't even explain to himself, John felt safer knowing that Buffy was with his wife.

"Go on," April murmured in his ear. "You know you're dying to play hide and seek too."

He smiled sheepishly and waited all of two minutes before darting beneath the table to join Robin.

His wife rolled her eyes and said it with mock disgust, although he knew it was one of the things she loved about him, "I swear you only teach second grade 'cause you wish you were still _in_ second grade."

Robin giggled, delighted that he was willing to play with her.

John took her by the hand. "Shall we make a break for it before they get to this table? I think we could sneak off to the coat room without being caught."

She nodded, and they both bent down to peek beneath the table skirt, waiting for the right opportunity to make their escape.

* * *

"Whacha lookin' at?" Buffy sidled up to her watcher, who was staring intently in the distance.

Giles pointed with the hand holding his champagne flute, pointed across the room at two figures standing near the bar. "Your father is talking to Spike. Now there's a conversation I'd pay money to hear."

She giggled. "I can just hear my dad now: 'So, son, what do you do for a living?'"

"'Well, I used to kill people 'til the government put this soddin' chip in my skull. Now I mostly mooch off your daughters.'" Giles had deepened his voice and affected more of a gutter accent. It reminded her somewhat of when he'd been under the influence of the band candy. She laughed giddily. He did a pretty good impression of Spike.

She deepened her own voice and continued with their little game. "'And how did you and Dawn meet?'"

"'Well, I'd been dumped by my first girlfriend, who was mad as a hatter, and Dawn invited me in for some hot cocoa and sympathy with her mum. But it wasn't 'til I started stalkin' her sister a couple years later that we really started to get close.'"

Buffy slapped him lightly on the arm. "Okay, stop it. You channeling Spike is just too icky."

He laughed and kissed her, smelling of cologne and tasting of liquor.

"You know what this means, don't you?" she asked him.

"What?"

"You're the good son-in-law."

Giles laughed and finished off his champagne. "One would think. But somehow your father has managed to blame me for this whole relationship. He said as much to me before he walked Dawn down the aisle. Apparently, I should have shown better judgment in the kinds of boys I let her date. As if he bore no accountability for the fact he's only been a marginal influence on her life for the last ten years."

"You didn't say that to him, did you?"

"No, that was before the champagne. Now, however, I just might."

Buffy giggled and leaned against his shoulder. "Don't. Dawn'll kill you if you pick a fight with Dad today."

He glanced down on her with a puzzled frown, and she couldn't help another giggle. "Mrs. Giles, I do believe you're rather tipsy."

"No! I mean, I had the one for the toast… and then the dance… and a whole glass after Spike kissed the cake off Dawnie's face… and…" She started counting them off on her fingers. "Okay, I'm tanked. But you know, after a couple glasses, this whole Spike/Dawn thing is no big deal."

He steered her towards the balcony doors. "Perhaps a little fresh air would do you some good." He started to follow her, but then backtracked at the last moment.

"Hey," Buffy protested, tugging on his hand in encouragement.

He shook his head. "Your father seems to have needed some fresh air after his conversation with Spike; he's gone out ahead of us. Unless you'd like to incur Dawn's wrath after I make a scene on her big day, I suggest you go on without me. And should _you_ choose to loosen your lips on this particular matter, well Dawn can hardly hold me accountable for that."

Buffy allowed him to bow out, deciding that some time alone with her father wouldn't be so unwelcome. She closed the balcony doors behind her and quietly slipped over to her father's side. He was leaning over the railing, staring down at the street below and seeming very far away. She leaned against the railing in a matching pose, enjoying the quiet after the last hours of constant activity.

Although he didn't turn his eyes from their far off contemplation, he obviously knew she was there, because he began speaking softly to her. "You know, you want to keep your kids young forever, but they just grow up too fast. I imagine a big part of that's my fault. If I had been around more, maybe you girls wouldn't have had to."

Buffy leaned her head against his shoulder, part of her angry with him, part of her feeling sorry for him. She was angry, because he did this every time she saw him: spouted off sentiments of guilt and remorse, but his actions never changed. He would go back to Spain next week, and who knew when they would see him again. But part of her felt a little sorry for him too, knowing he bore very little responsibility for them growing so quickly. One daughter the Slayer, the other the Key, and that, more than any absent father, had forced them past childhood faster than other girls their age.

But he didn't know any of that. He knew very little about her life, really, not since he and her mother had split. And maybe that's why she missed him sometimes, why she was always happy to see him again, no matter how long it had been, or how angry she was with him for missed phone calls and forgotten birthdays and broken promises. He was her tie to a life before the Hellmouth, a life filled with ice skating lessons and weekend trips to the country. Sometimes, when it was quiet and just the two of them, she could lean against his shoulder like this, and close her eyes, and pretend she was twelve years old again.

"I wish Mom could be here for this," she finally whispered.

"Your mother always did love weddings. She always cried, even when she barely knew the bride and groom."

"Mom was a sucker for happy endings."

Hank chuckled. "Did she still have all those old movies? 'It's a Wonderful Life' and 'Breakfast at Tiffany's' and 'Singing in the Rain'?"

"Yeah," Buffy answered, remembering sadly. "We used to have moviefests on my birthdays or… or when life was just really crappy."

"The only woman I ever knew who hated Casablanca."

"It didn't have a happy ending. They said goodbye at the end."

"Life isn't always happy endings," he replied bitterly.

"I know," she sighed, haunted by her own memories. "_Believe_ me, Dad, I know."

He did turn to look at her then, and Buffy thought that maybe he might actually be seeing her for once. "You know, I think you do." He shifted to the side, leaning against the railing with one elbow as his other hand reached out to cup her cheek. When he spoke, his voice was filled with amazement and awe. "I'm so proud of you, Buffy. You have become this mature, beautiful woman. And maybe you haven't made the choices I would have made for you, but I look at your life, and I can't help but admit that the choices you made were right for you."

She smiled, a stray tear slipping down her cheek, and he brushed it quickly away. "Even Giles?" she asked hopefully.

He groaned and withdrew his hand. "You're going to make me say it, aren't you?"

"You don't have to say it to me, but I think you should say it to him."

He shook his head, not in disagreement, but in frustrated resignation. He quickly changed the subject. "I had my reservations about Dawn getting married so young, like you did. I had nightmares about her ending up divorced with half a dozen children before she hit 24."

Buffy barked out a loud laugh. "I don't think you have to worry about them having a passel of kids. I guarantee no accidents in Dawnie's future."

He seemed puzzled for a moment, and then dismissed the odd comment with a shake of his head. "But then I look at you, Buffy, and you give me hope that this might turn out alright for her. Tell me honestly: Do you think Dawn is making the right choice for her?"

"For her? Yeah. I mean, I think she could have waited, but… Around here, waiting doesn't always turn out so good either."

He nodded, accepting that. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, both of them staring out into the night. Buffy sighed and snuggled against his chest. It had been a long time since she could be with her father like this: just enjoying his company and not feeling the need to be constantly on the defensive.

It seemed the right moment to ask him something she had always wanted to know.

"Dad, tell me about the first time you and Mom met."

She felt his silent laughter shake through his chest. He kissed her on her forehead and paused for a moment in thought. "She was a freshman in college; I was a junior. Our dorms were near each other, and we often studied at the same library. After a few weeks, I started to notice her. She was always sitting at the same table and-"

"Uh-uh," Buffy countered. "Mom started to tell me once, and I believe it involved her going stag to the homecoming dance, and you… well, she was kinda vague on this point, but it sounded like you ditched your date for her."

Hank colored deeply. "She told you about that?"

"She said it was a very funny story, but I never got to hear it. Please?" Her eyes pleaded with him in a very childish way that belied their entire previous conversation about maturity.

"Oh, alright. But you know, if your mother were still alive, she'd kill me for telling you."

But he relented and told her all the sordid details, although Buffy got the impression he was still holding back a little. Even so, her mother was right: it was a very funny story.

* * *

Alex had found them in the coat room and now it was the three of them hiding from Susan. She was very near to discovering their hideout, and John rather suspected that she already knew, but was only humoring the children. Alex wanted to sneak into the kitchen, but John was thankfully able to convince the boy that it would be a bad idea.

Susan wandered closer to the coatroom, and he knew she had it figured out. She leaned against the doorway, standing two feet from where the small group was kneeling on the floor, hidden by the racks of coats. Robin covered her mouth with her hands to try and stifle her giggles.

"Oh, dear," Susan sighed melodramatically. "Now I suppose I shall have to go back to the hotel by myself. If only I could find those children. Their parents gave them permission to stay overnight with their grandfather and me, but now I guess I'll just have to go swimming in the hotel pool by myself."

"No!" Alex cried, charging out from his hiding spot. "Go swim," he pleaded, his arms circling her legs.

"Me too," Robin begged, also abandoning the game of hide and seek for the promise of a hotel swimming pool.

John climbed out from behind the coats as well, standing up and smiling bashfully at Susan.

"I don't know," she told the children, laughing. "I think your friend John will be sad after you go. He won't have anyone to play with."

Alex seemed to consider this seriously for a moment before offering up the suggestion that John could come swimming too.

He laughed. "No, thank you. Perhaps another time."

Alex turned back to Susan, bouncing on his feet as he asked again, "Can we, Gamma?"

"Go say goodbye to your parents first. And Dawn and Spike."

The children dashed off as soon as the words had left her mouth.

She looked at John, shaking her head. "Sounds funny, doesn't it? I'll only be twenty-seven next year, and I'm a grandma."

He held out his arm to escort her back into the reception hall. "Trust me, grandparenting is much nicer. All of the fun without the work."

"You have grandkids?"

"Not for a few more months, but I'm pretty sure all the same."

* * *

Buffy had only recently returned from her conversation with her father and had immediately cornered Giles into dancing with her. A slow song was playing, and he had relented without protest, taking her into his arms and laying his cheek against her head as she curled up close to his chest. He was having a hard time judging her mood. She seemed both happy and sad, and when he finally placed his finger beneath her chin to tilt her head up, there were tears streaking down her cheeks.

"Buffy?"

"I'm okay, Giles. I just… I guess it finally hit me while I was talking with Dad: Dawnie's all grown up and going to college soon, and she'll be living so far away. And… and…" She took a deep breath. "And I guess I was just missing Mom too. You know, this wouldn't have wigged her out as much as it did all of us. She always liked Spike for some odd reason."

Giles smiled and wiped her tears away with the back of his hand. "Maybe it just took the rest of us a little longer to see the potential your mother saw from the beginning."

"Yeah." She gave him a worried frown. "Would it bother you if I said I was also a little sad that Angel and everyone couldn't come?"

"Of course not." He paused. "Although, I hope you don't consider me somehow responsible for their work taking priority."

"No, don't be silly." She stretched up and gave him a peck on the nose. "I know they have to go where Vision Girl sends them, and there's not much you can do about that, even if you are their boss."

He smiled, grateful for her understanding, and then bent to return her friendly kiss with a real one, much more passionate and placed squarely on her lips. The impact of two running children against their legs quickly interrupted them, not to mention nearly toppled them over.

"Go swim wif Gamma," Alex blurted out. The child's face was flushed with excitement, not to mention the inordinate amount of sugar he had consumed through the course of the evening. Buffy lifted him up, and he chattered happily about their game of hide and seek with John and Susan and his future plans for the promised sleepover with his grandparents.

Robin placed her little feet, adorned with their black patent leather shoes, squarely on top of Giles' own. Holding onto his pant legs, she smiled up at him and said, "Dance wif Giles."

He smiled back at his daughter, swaying gently with her, his heart constricting painfully at the knowledge that he could have easily missed out on all of this, that he could have lost her to the darkness the Host had foreseen more than three years ago, or that she could have remained forever missing. Less than six months ago, he had never even laid eyes on her.

The children kissed each of their parents goodbye, and then set off in search of Dawn and Spike, the last of their required goodbyes before they could leave with their grandparents.

Buffy and Giles resumed their dance, although the song had changed. The tempo was still slow, however, and they both swayed to the music as they watched their children from a distance.

Buffy slid her arms beneath his tuxedo jacket and around his waist. She sighed as she laid her cheek against his chest. "Do you think Robin will ever call us Mommy and Daddy? Do you think she'll ever think of us like that?"

He pondered that question for a moment, his eyes still focused on the two children who were giving the happy couple enthusiastic hugs goodbye. "The McGregors took care of her, loved her, and she loved them. It might be too confusing or feel like too much of a betrayal for her to simply replace them with us." His arms tightened around her reassuringly. "She's only three, though, Buffy. Given time, she'll come to think of us as her parents, whether or not she actually calls us by those names."

"Easy for you to say," she grumbled. "At least, she calls you by your name."

He couldn't help chuckling, although it earned him a dirty look from his wife. He tried to erase the amusement from his face, very unsuccessfully. "She used to call you Buffy. The fact that she's recently dubbed you something else should be a fairly good indication that your relationship with her is improving."

"Yeah, but… Muffy?"

He choked on his laughter, and even Buffy's scowl wasn't enough to silence his giggles this time. "Yes, well, 'Muffy' is…" He needed to take a deep breath before he could continue. "Well, it's a lot closer to 'Mummy' than Giles is to 'Daddy.' Besides, I think it's rather cute."

She didn't seem very consoled. "If I _ever_ hear you call me that, I'll set Alex loose on your books with an assortment of magic markers and a triple scoop chocolate ice cream cone."

He shuddered. "The word shall never pass my lips."

The music inevitably changed, and Giles led her off the floor, passing Willow and Xander as they headed onto the floor to dance. Anya was still sitting at the Scoobie table, writing furiously on napkins. She had a small stack of filled ones beside the frostingless remains of her cake.

"Shall we join her?" Giles asked his slayer.

"Nah. She's been like that since you gave her the store: composing ads and calculating profit margins. Besides…" She twisted suddenly to stand in front of him, looping her arms around his neck. "The twins are staying with the grandparents, Spike and Dawn are driving out to Vegas for a honeymoon, and we have the whole house to ourselves tonight." She slipped her arms from around his neck and seductively caressed her fingers down the front of his shirt.

"So…" she murmured, leaning forward on her toes until her lips were barely an inch from his. "If the Slayer took the head of the Council home and had her wicked way with him, would people worry that she was sleeping her way to the top?"

"No, they would just think she was ambitious."

The heat between them built, but they didn't kiss, hurrying off instead to say their goodbyes, so they could go home and do more than kiss.

* * *

Lilah stepped up to the front desk of Wolfram and Hart's Files and Records department. She knew exactly which cabinets stored the files she needed, but she didn't feel like sorting through them for hours, looking for the relevant information.

She waited patiently until the file clerk had glanced up from her computer monitor.

"You've read the file on Rupert Giles, right?"

"Of course, Miss Morgan. I'm Files and Records. That's my job." Her voice was crisp, precise.

"Right." Lilah was still holding the envelope in her hand, received in that morning's mail drop and containing one audiotape and one videotape. She'd written the names on the back flap. "Do the names Longsworth, Sulla, or Ben mean anything to you?"

The file clerk cocked her head to one side, staring off into the distance as her eyes flashed white, whirling through the data with an audible clicking sound. After a few seconds, she straightened her head and met Lilah's questioning stare. "Longsworth, Everett. Born 1931. Died 2002. Owner of the second largest shipping company in the United Kingdom with yearly receipts averaging 6.4 million. In 1978, his only son Randall dies while being possessed by the demon Eyghon and is subsequently killed by Giles, Rupert. November 1997: he attempts to avenge his son's death by sending the same demon after those involved in the possession rituals. The only remaining survivors are Giles, Rupert and Rayne, Ethan. January 2002: Longsworth again attempts vengeance, kidnapping twin infants Giles, William Alexander and McGregor, Robin Deanna. He is later presumed dead in a plane crash off the coast of Newfoundland, final obituary dated February 25, 2002."

Lilah smiled smugly. "Oh, he didn't die in a plane crash."

The clerk frowned, again staring off into the distance as her eyes flashed white. She turned back to the lawyer. "I have no data on that."

"Well, now you do." Lilah handed over the envelope in her hands. "Add those to the file and mark them as copies. I have the originals in a safe location."

"Yes, Miss Morgan. Will there be anything else?"

Lilah strolled out of Files and Records, tossing over her shoulder as she left, "No, I think that's exactly enough."

Finis - March 16, 2002

**Author's notes:**

First, thanks to everyone who has been reading and giving feedback. I'm very pleased with how the whole thing turned out, and were it not for everyone's kind encouragement, I would have stopped at the first book. So you can all take credit for the second and third books.

Also, I'd like to thank Gail for beta reading the third book. I'm sure it ended up being a much larger project than she had probably expected, but she was always very thorough and helpful, and I think it's better for it. My friend Phil also did more than his share in editing and keeping all the medical/British stuff correct.


End file.
